The truth about wickedly wet Wednesday
Anyone in New Orleans last night that didn’t stand lay in awe of mother nature and her majesty, you must have been anesthetized. It was, in a word, gnarly.
You wake and the storm is still raging and you feel as if all routine must be put on hold to accommodate an unprepared for event – namely flooding streets, an electric light orchestra, pounding drums of thunder claps, and all the while you realize if not now, then when?
When will you change your life? Pebbles in your pocket – some dark, some light – you take a light one when you’ve contributed to it, caring, helping, supporting, you take a dark one when you obscure the light, gossip, slights, and indifference.
What if the heart is a red pebble? Where does it go? Which pocket? Who decides?
I dreamed last night of one horrific scene after another, they tore the sheetrock off the walls, they purged on the floors, they stained the sheets with goo and sperm, they had firearms and ammunition, they were all here – why?
Kettle drums beating down on my head as a back roll.