Having just washed the day off, hair still dripping and smelling of lemon shampoo, I am now splayed dreamily in an oversized hammock, on a second floor porch in an 1889 Key West mansion. Left foot dangling, fishing for some magic in the island air. Spending my last evening in a gentle, intimate embrace with the soul of Coyo Hueso – balmy breeze, eye level palm fronds softly aflutter, the faraway pulse of Duval Street melting into the melody of this island lullaby. As she sings me her song, I reflect on an unforgettable and unique trip to an outpost rich in history and lore. Sure, I ate, drank and was merry. But I also took tours, listened to stories, spent hours lost in museum exhibits, heard accounts of days past as only a native islander can tell. And in that, I have returned to an island I’ve stood on many times before, and I’ve seen it for the first time.