Rooted in the Middle By: Stephanie Richards

Almost two decades under this ever-bold sun,

Where the skies stretch wide and unapologetic—

I’ve grown roots in the sand,

Watered by rainstorms that come in sideways,

And wisdom that whispers from Spanish moss.

Here, life hums between the cracks of theme park gloss,

Beyond the castles and roller coasters,

Where soul food sizzles on tucked-away corners

And barbershops spill wisdom with each fade.

I know the scent of orange blossoms before they bloom,

And the way the air thickens with memory in late July.

There’s poetry in the mundane here:

The gospel of a good Publix sub,

The rhythm of feet on Lake Eola’s curve,

Sandhill cranes stopping traffic like they pay rent,

And lizards doing pushups like they run the block.

I’ve watched art bloom in the alleyways of Mills 50,

Dreams stitched into murals,

Voices raised in drum circles at Dinky Dock Park

Where the sunset hits just right on the water.

Ideas are born here between the breaths of

swamp and city,

In the blend of Creole, Caribbean, and Southern slang

Spoken between food truck orders and porch talks.

These streets, these skies—they’ve seen me.

Nurtured me.

Taught me how to thrive with humidity in my lungs

And patience in my stride.

I’ve been shaped by storm seasons and still mornings,

By the resilience of this place that never stops moving

Yet somehow always makes space to stay still.

So when I say I’m from Central Florida,

I don’t mean a dot on a map—

I mean the woman who emerged from the soil

Of this sun-baked, rain-soaked,

culture-rich, soul-fed home.

She is me—grounded, growing, glowing.

Still blooming in the middle.

Bio:
Stephanie Richards has been writing all her life but finally decided to share her writing with the world in 2024.