Friday, February 17, 2012


Spanish Moss
A Moonpie caught in mid-air (tastes so much better that way)
Sunsets on the water everyday
Cheap, fresh seafood
Never having to introduce myself
Humidity that makes my hair curl just right
Cast nets
Mosey-ers and sauntering
Chicory coffee
Stopping for ducks in the street
Everyone you meet is also an artist/novelist/nudist/flautist/ist/ist/ist
Keeping a bathing suit in my backpack just in case
Dairy cows and crab traps within three miles of each other
Highway 98, Scenic 98, Old 98, and where 98 meets 98
Homes with names

Mardi Gras season always makes me miss home.  It's hard to believe my little sir will grow up so differently.  He'll know a place much larger and faster, not so sweet.  I'm gonna try, though, to instill a little bit of his gulf coast heritage, even this far inland.

This is novelist Rick Bragg's take:

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