You are not supposed to look directly at it.
But I can't stop taking pictures of the sun.
The natives worship it, even as they curse the throngs of traffic-clogging tourists it attracts, whine about the heat and crank up the air conditioning until icicles form on the Bahama shutters. Now that I think about it, "worship" is probably too strong a word.
My point is, I am nine-tenths tourist by now, having left Florida behind almost six years ago in our family's quixotic quest to remain employed in the news industry. I still can't bring myself to buy a seashell or pay to see an alligator. And I never leave the house without SPF 2000. But I no longer object when someone tries to bring me a drink with a little umbrella in it.
As long as it's red wine.
Photos: Sunrise over South Florida.
from the sunshine archives: Wish You Were Here