From Port Lavaca to Rockport-Fulton & Back

Four weeks into the aftermath of Hateful Harvey – – the hurricane from hell.

If you have ever visited/lived in the Texas Coastal Bend you know how charming it was… how charming it will be again!

Yes, Harvey wreaked havoc, destroyed homes, businesses and even lives but he did not break the spirit!

harvey landfall august 25 017
There was so much more to photograph. There were weary folks still digging through the ruble, swatting at mosquitoes and pausing to cry. The locals and volunteers shared kinship and friendship and displayed such gratitude for the simplistic things; basic items like trash bags, bug spray, and gloves – things we tend to take for granted on an average day.

Humbling.

Sorry, I did not have the heart to pick up a camera in those seconds of pained expressions amidst devastation – the ones that make for cover worthy photos. I simply lived in the moment and tried not to infringe upon their privacy or their grief.

(HaPpY BirThDaY Katie Bug)

September Gale

Whistling, blowing

Pushing trees

Pressure, growing

Sweet scent breeze

 

Windows rattle

Base boards creak

Rumbling thunder

Lightening streak

 

Panting breath

Heavy sigh –

Oh it’s just Katie

Running by

 

For my granddaughter

From Getting Me Back (A Poetic Memoir)

Not-So Wordless Wednesday (That was Many Moons Ago)

The light in the window was just bright enough to make the shadows seem to dance across the ceiling. Mary stared out at the large oaks waving to the hanging clouds; their long arms outstretched to the heavens. A full moon was looming and she could not sleep…

Excerpt from  Behind the Rage (Clan Destiny, #2)

#TBT (How I met Maggie and Almost Killed Clara)

That was over 4 years ago.

But I think it’s worth telling again 😉

I was wading in the surf on Matagorda beach one warm, sunny day exchanging dialogue with Clara.walking surf

I had known Clara for about ten years and I have to admit, conversing with her was like pulling teeth. I don’t want to say she was dull, but she was too quiet and a tad introverted. Don’t get me wrong, she is a lovely girl. She is smart and pretty and sweet and kind, but she was just too darn nice for the most part. Too calm, too reasonable, too… dull! There, I said it!

Anyway, as I was wading in the surf, dragging my feet (literally to scatter the sting rays) I was thinking how I might kill her. I know that must sound horrible, we had been comrades for so long, but she wearied me. Her unspoiled, hoity-toity, prim and proper, everything by the book personality made me want to send her sailing face down with the outgoing tide. I think she knew it (she has a sixth sense thing, you know) and I figured she wasn’t going to fight me. It wasn’t in her nature. I thought maybe she wanted to die?

I had mulled it over and finally come to terms with the decision when a perky little blonde came running down the beach waving and shouting,

“Hey y’all wait for me.”

Oh my lord, I thought, while trying to ignore the thin, tanned Mississippian’s approach.

splash back.JPGI quickly shoved Clara toward the incoming wave but her feet were planted too firmly — she didn’t budge, and to my surprise she pushed back!

“Do you know her?” I asked.

Clara shook her head slowly and replied, “No but you do. You met her on a trip to Biloxi once.”

I was speechless.

“Hey, I’m Maggie,” the lady smiled as she looked past me and held out her hand, “you must be Clara.”

I suppose it’s true that opposites attract. I watched Maggie come alive and in doing so she saved Clara.

*This is a story about a story. Clara and Maggie are safe and sound (for the most part) inside a fictional series.

Read about their meeting in Book 1

TBT (A Poem & A Picture)

A Little More Time was written in 1980 something, originally published in Pose Prose & Poems in 1998 and republished in the 2017  poetic memoir called Getting Me Back

A Little More Time

There’s an eagle out there soaring

And my best friend is out whoring

Turning tricks of any kind

Doing anything to make a dime

God forgive her for the crime

All she needs is a little more time.

On the roof three stories high

A junky cries and begs to die

Ain’t had a fix in several days

Swears he can’t go on this way

Across the street a church bell chimes

Grant us please a little more time.

An old man sick and dying

Alone with no one crying

He grieves for all the pain he’s caused

For all the people that he’s lost

Outside the window painted mimes

All rushing for a little more time

A woman labors down the hall

Her anguish echoes through the wall

But soon a laughter takes its place

When she looks upon the baby’s face

For a moment all is sublime

As we are given a little more time