Despite my best efforts, I have gotten the cold I thought I was too smart for. So I decided if I was going to have a headache and blow my nose all the time, it would be better at the beach. When I pulled into my driveway I was listening to Louis Armstrong sing the Beale Street Blues. “I’d rather be here than anyplace I know.”
The freshness, the haunted beauty, the frailty and ferocity of this place and the way it constantly changes is humbling and medicinal, too. This is the closest thing to religion that I have. To experience awe on a regular basis like this just puts everything in perspective.
The gun turret was a rippling tidepool of clouds. No one can tell me this place isn’t enchanted.
The Rhody was faithful to the end and beyond, and even landed on its feet.