What’s rolling around up there this morning. And do rhetorical questions always need an eroteme, I don’t think so, at least mine don’t, because I say so and I’m the oldest.
Behind clouds, eerie moonrise last evening, eerie as life itself at 86%. A lovely Saturday predawn. Full moon over StAndrewsBay, high in the west, at least one shrimp boat moving slowly back and forth beyond my porch. It’s that green boat with the Vietnamese name. Mornings she arrives escorted by a tornado of seagulls, backs stern-in to her berth. White walking birds, I guess they’re egrets (?) wander around hopefully as the deckhand hoses off her deck. Shrimp, overnight’s catch, are loaded into large cooler chests brought from a red pickup truck. All will happen again this morning, but is yet to do. Why change the liturgy if it works (eroteme)
And so what about life this Saturday morning? Walk? Breakfast? I may cook that piece of lean pork bought at Tyndall. Or that lambchop from supper.
What rolls around rolls around. August 1992. A cottage on StGeorgeIsland. Looking out over the Gulf of Mexico through pine trees, longleaf pines, steady rain. Steady rain but not driving rain. Steady rain as Hurricane Andrew moves off SouthFlorida and across the Gulf south of us toward the Louisiana Mississippi coast. Phone rings: a beloved parishioner just died. Jocelyn, whose life had a lovestory. Why is this one of those memories that rolls around (eroteme) Because next week I drive my girl to Baltimore, another parting. I can't bear it ...
Chocolate this morning: Ghirardelli. 86%. Midnight Reverie says the package. Bittersweet.
Thos+ in +Time+