Just returned from four glorious days on the lovely south coast of Texas. 85, breezy, no crowds, gaudy sunsets and great pizza. What more could I want? Now, I often laugh at others who say that Texas is too hot. I love the heat. 95 is great! And 105 is even better. You sure cannot beat 85 degrees, a tan and the salty air in November.
One day we were caught on the island by fog. It was a heavy, wet fog that sat like a hovering mama chicken on the island all day. Walking on the beach was like taking a shower. The air was dripping from our hair and people and buildings would emerge from the milky abyss only to slide back into it. It was as if the world had been washed away and only we had survived.
Driving back home through Houston is hell, of course, when you hit it at rush hour. And I am reminded that the world is not all surf and cloudy beaches. There are the bombs that blast life away in Jordan. There is hatred and malice. But in all the dreary fog of this world, I see the beauty, the love and the mystery. I know that every cloud is not doom. Sometimes it is just the foggy blanket that is hiding the world from view.
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