The plane touched the earth again in Orleans Parish walking , I breathed in the heavy southern air that spoke of river, and mud, and gulf, and heat, and swamp lands, in one long-congested breath.
Then off barreling down the concrete highway toward Ocean Springs and catfish and family I go.
The black clouds draped in curdled skin
eyed us, and the wind stirred them slow. The thunderheads hung heavy and green, all hail-stone full. Rolling across the sky's dark bowl, blackened from edge to edge with but a single shining slit lying low to the East. A sleeping crescent moon lain to nap. I drug the chair from my motel room and resumed a seat not sat in years, upon my soon-to-be stormed on porch. The slow start of fat drops hitting dust with a sloppy, full sound. The rumbled humidity recedes for a few minutes. My ears savored that old sweet song, every word and verse. Amen.