In those days of trouble, the palms stood as contrary optimists, their tops waving cheerleader poms.
Green flags in a bonny hot wind were the sentry palms. I always saw them as a salut to the sea, a welcoming of green after such an expanse of blue.
And there amid the golden sands was a flowing pond of sky in the happy company of palms, an oasis that could have jumped from the pages of a storybook.
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