Pass Christian, MS – December 20, 2012
The storm came, furious wind and a wall of rain, but I held on in the cracked ruins of Baldwin Lodge until the rain broke and the sun poured into the world.
I emerged into a maze of bayous, playing hide and seek with the west wind that beat across the grass in search of me as I twisted and turned down the winding tongues of water.
After a half-dozen miles, the grass gave way to a horizon of ocean and I clung to the shore, refusing the wind space to work. Waves came choppy and young, splattering across the hull and sending spray soaring in the wind.
But the mouth of St. Louis bay hung open and wide, funneling waves through its maw. They crashed and broke, popping me up and down, punching me in the stomach, as I picked my way across, watching every wave and not daring to imagine the other side until it was underneath me.
The sun set, brilliant pink, and left me cold and stranded along a house-lined shore. I waited until dark and pulled the boat onto the beach, crawling next to it in my sleeping bag, a few hundred feet from the highway, hoping no one saw me in the dark.
I love waking up and not knowing what will happen. I hate it too. But either way, I’m addicted.