Looking out over the Bay of Biscayne, waiting in excited anticipation for hurricane Isaac to make his fateful mark in Southeast Florida, I find myself coming to the inevitable realization that summer vacation will come to a screeching halt in a week's time.

I caught myself referring to Miami as home just the other day which surprised me. I haven't spent more than two weeks in this city and already it's reached home status? A place where I have roots? This isn't right. Home is a label all too sentimental and personal for Miami to tout just yet. Even more confusing is that in the same conversation I had labeled both Atlanta and Barcelona as home. This I can feel comfortable with. I have spent significant portions of my life in these two cities and they have had a lasting impact on my life. I certainly can't say the same for Miami. So how did it reach such a privileged status so quickly?

Happy Hour

Lounging poolside on the bay

I'm sitting on the balcony at my temporary home in South Beach, drinking a Corona and watching a subtle sunset over the bay. The sky is painted in hues of soft pinks and oranges, and each time I look up from my computer screen I find them slipping away to dull greys.