Forbidden fruit is exactly as nutritious as any other fruit.
Oh, surely, some biochemical ethicist will say that the adrenaline of sneaking around, the thrill of breaking a taboo constricts the blood vessels in your tongue and sharpens the receptors on your circumvallate taste buds papillae, thus inducing the sensation of extra sweetness.
I mean, I don’t know that; I’m just assuming.
But it doesn’t change the chemical composition of the fruit at all, of that I am sure.
Put another way: You don’t improve apples by throwing people in jail for eating them.
All this is to say, I do not walk past No Trespassing signs because I like the rush of being a naughty boy. I am forced to trespass in order to access some of the most beautiful environments in my city.
These are utility access paths for county vehicles to perform regular maintenance on retention ponds and pump houses. These grass lanes are more than 40-feet across in most places, banked by drainage ditches that drop down more than 12 feet.
Or, if you squint just right, it’s the road that leads to Shangri-La. Honah Lee. Neverland. Springfield.
These bright green roadways just off from Semoran promise the kind of adventure I spent most of my childhood looking for around every corner. Cutoff from the traffic that defines Central Florida, these miles of verdant roadway transport hikers to a half-manicured Wonderland, bursting with stories.
Under the right sky, the environment can become, as Baudelaire puts it, “poignant to the point of pain.” Venturing into these surreal grasslands always feels like it should end in a dragon or a wizard or god, but usually it’s just another subdivision.
My point is only that the city around you has more to offer than the paved and the permitted. Look between the buildings, under the rocks and behind the veil.
Where do you want to go? It’s probably already here.