Turning 40 again

Storm line has passed through. Meaning to get up in the night and enjoy its violence, I slept until five o’clock, up to speak to Father Nature and snuggled back down until six. Still black dark, the only sound outside the roar of the Gulf surf four miles away across Shell Island. If this isn’t heaven, it must be purgatory with an open portal to earth life and its hell of Daily News from around the globe. The predawn morning that I slide open the door, step outside on my balcony and, instead of the Gulf roar or little waves lapping ashore seven floors below, hear eerie music and voices singing “I’ll fly away, O Lordy, I’ll fly away” I’ll know I was right. Miss Jesus and the Sweet Pilgrim Baptist Church redivivus. If you see a 1970 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme coupe driving across the heavens, a forty-year-old Navy commander at the wheel, you'll know I was not Left Behind.

If this is purgatory, don’t bother praying me out of it, certainly not until after breakfast, mullet in the go-box from yesterday’s lunch.

Ah: dawning beyond the eastern clouds, and no angel voices. 201503140635 and Life is Good.

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