It was the clouds, not the apocalypse, and the camera doesn’t lie of course, which is why I take so few selfies, but the impression in the sky that drew me out onto 7H porch to snap a pic was that the sun was coming up in the west for a change. It was momentarily that dark in the east and bright in the west across the Bay beyond Magnolia Beach, the high condos on Thomas Drive, and over the Gulf of Mexico.
Well, that’s not true, the iPhone camera is lying in this case because the pic doesn’t capture what I saw: it was phenomenal if only from 7H and in my mind's eye. It’s over and life goes on, if not as I once saw it, not what I remember hoping, planning and meaning in the passing moment. Which may be to say that 81 is not 40, 21, or seventeen. All of life and every day, joyous, catastrophic, loving, grieving, or boring as only Bubba can be, has prepared me for this hour and the next in this vocation. And unlike this morning’s camera, I never lied, I meant it all at the time, every touch, every moment, every word.
What might I like to have back about life? Well maybe that white Cadillac with red leather seats.
But ah, the sun: it’s coming up in the east after all.
A bit more truth is that this Louisiana coffee with chicory has the slightest hint of sweet just as did my sip of scotch with a cube before supper, sandwich of juicy red tomato cut thick.
What's this blog all about? IDK, I just shut off the brain and let the fingers tiptoe through the tulips.