Easter Sunday 2005

Driving north on HWY 87, heading up the
Bolivar Peninsula. Weather was clear, warm

when I left Houston a couple of hours ago. By the time
I'd reached Galveston, the wind had swung around

to the north, clouds filled the sky, temperature had
fallen 20 degrees. Not much traffic on 87 today. Queen

Anne's Lace and Indian Paintbrush blooming in the ditches.
Just north of Rollover Pass, I spy a thin strip of beach, decide

to pull over. The wind's howling down across the bay
carrying the taste of salt. Almost lose my baseball cap a few

steps from the car, stick it under my arm to keep it
safe. Wander along the beach, scanning the sand

for shells. About 50 yards along, I spot something
interesting. Squat down to dig with my fingers.

Unearth a left-handed whelk shell. A nice one. The wind
feels colder now, time to head back to the car. As I walk,

I notice the shell's filled with sand. Stop to shake it out.
Watch the falling sand, space out on everything else, lose

track of time. Eventually I realize how chilled I feel, need
to get in the car, warm up. I reach for my cap. It's gone.

Spin around, look out over the Gulf. Nothing
but whitecaps and brown water in sight.