Though it presages the heat and oppression of a summer day on the Texas coast, the rise of the sun over Galveston Bay inspires me each time I see it.

A few minutes into a June Sunday, the brutal heat of the day fading, a fine whiskey in the glass and music of the Old Blind Dogs lifting my spirits.  Six cats loll around the living room and deck, cheering me still more.  I’m dreaming of tall, cool mountains…

A waning moon just rose over the bay, yellow-orange as a peach.  A small boat sails out into the bay.  What a pure joy, to be on the dark silent water in the middle of the night, no other boats or people in sight or hearing, shore lights and the Kemah Boardwalk all dark.  This is what I work so hard for: to linger late into the night with my leonine buddies, carefree and insouciant, a bit tipsy as the last wisps of the sea breeze freshen the night.

As Truman Capote wrote, I could die with this evening in my eyes…

In all my travels, across almost 60 years, I have experienced nothing closer to perfection than Autumn in Texas.  It comes late here, after summers which can seem interminable, making its arrival seem almost a surprise every year.  With the equinox now behind us, the sun’s light slowly eases from glaring to lambent; color and shadow return.

This evening, around sunset, I took a few photos of the bay in the softening light.  I think I do this to remind me of my many blessings.

Thunderstorms rumbled all night; I woke to them early this morning. They continued all day, dropping four inches of rain on top of the several inches we received through the week.  When I returned home from the shelter late in the afternoon, the sky was still dark, but the bay was alive with activity: boats and ships, flocks of pelicans feeding, songbirds at the feeders, and my dear buddy cats.  Light was poor for photographs, but I took many because there was magic in this day.  Too often I take this lovely place for granted, until days like this make me appreciate it anew.