Tuesday, I ran away from home.
I’ve been at the house almost 100% of the time since I got back from Albuquerque in July. Not only at the house but in the house. It’s been too hot to do anything outside. Work in the yard - noooo (everything I’ve wanted to do involved moving plants and they would not be happy being dug up and moved when the temperature was 100° and the ground rock hard). After my drive home from Albuquerque, I suffered with “car paranoia” for a couple of weeks – god knows, breaking down on Hwy 59 would be tantamount to entering hell. Morgan wasn’t doing too well and I was reluctant to leave for more than an hour or so. Wharton doesn’t offer much in the way of fun things to do. Whine, whine, whine.
So, I ran away from home. People that know me would know where to look – the closest beach. Right now, that’s Matagorda. I got down there early. The sandy path down to the beach is still pristine.
There are a few wild beach flowers still blooming.
The sun is in and out of clouds.
The tide is really high and the beach looks like someone has dumped two dozen truck loads of sand on it. Soft white sand – the kind of soft where each step sinks down over my ankles. There is much wind. Lots of waves – big waves for no storm brewing out there. Very strange. This is August and usually the tide is low and the waves are quiet. There is not one single shell on the beach. This is Matagorda – there are always shells. The water is really warm – well, that’s normal.
The pelicans are out flying around over the water. It’s amazing to watch them fish. They hover for a few seconds and dive straight down. Wham – into the water and float up and fly away.
I’m not sure what is better than sandy feet, warm water, the sound of waves, the feel of the air, the briny scent on the breeze. It soothes my soul and relaxes my mind.