Humid Morning

Humid Morning on Galveston Isle. Trees are statuesque. No breeze to move the leaves. My resident squirrels run up and down, My date palms sorting through the remnants Of last night's party. The two local drunks make their way to the R&R for their morning beer. The really nice black lady across the street waves hi, And goes back to work on her hibiscus. A small breeze off the gulf moves the leaves slightly, Causing the grackles to start squawking. Ike is a fading memory. life is almost, almost back to normal. Time to head south again. Goodbye my precious jewel. though your soul is gone from this gentle place. I will return. 7/4/13 Galveston Island