The Adventures of the InkWeaver.

Among the midst of the busy US1 road and rumbles of the metro train passing by, lies a piece of tranquility yet a hint of adventure in the heart of Coconut Grove. A masterpiece with Italian accents nestled in the comfort and safety of old age Oaks and Florida's local mangroves that were untouched to retain it's natural beauty to the bustling city. As I walk through the dense forest path, my eyes wide with wonder on how such a forest could still exist in the middle of a busy, scheduled city, my mind couldn't help but ponder on how I landed such a hidden luster jewel of Miami. A common tourist like me would take a car like anybody else but on a whim the spontaneous trip into the mysterious forest sounded more appealing on that day. My feet sweep fallen leaves and cones as I follow the paved path, this time my mind more focused on what lies at the end of the road.
At last, my feet stop reaching the end. There, at the entrance of the estate, are two fountain lines at each side made of old sculpted limestone, leading for the visitors to follow for the main entrance. Each section ends with spurting fountains, creating joy for the little ones that splashed then ran to each spout. I could smell the familiar scent of fresh ocean water, realizing that I was closer to the bay than I had originally thought. The breeze wafts through my hair, giving me a splash of coolness as I make my way down the entrance to the estate.
Without even thinking, my mind wandered aimlessly, allowing my feet to do the guiding itself while my eyes relish over the details of this Italian estate. My mind that was thirsty for colors and adventures starts to drink in the gold and platinum coats of all the original, imported, ornate pieces from Italy herself that accommodated the royals of the US and Europe at it's time.
As much as the mansion were beautiful, it was the grand polished garden that stole my eyes quickly. The manicured plants that still stood regal and tall after all these years, the fountains that accentuated it's Italian's roots among the lush vegetation; the gazebos that held and protected secretive previous lovers during glamorous parties and fancy weddings as the years pass, and the vaulted swimming pool with it's old textured mural of floral and fauna of the aged Keys. I bet even Mr.John Deering wondered as he walked through his gardens and polished estate on how he ended up on a piece of the golden age Italy in Miami.