9:15 AM Guns and Pythons

I just finished a huge bowl grits. Now I’m ready for a nap. Instead of napping I donned my raincoat and cap and scrambled up to the upstairs porch. It’s raining harder now and the wind is driving the rain at a tingly velocity. The upper porch is exposed. But through the plants and trees in both directions, river bound and lake bound, I can get a clear view all the way to Magazine, lake bound, and all the way to just about Patton, river bound.

The wind
is still scary
to me. The
low, throaty,
mantric groan
has grown into
the mid-tone
tenor roar of
jets flying high overhead.
I can hear the
thunks and plunks and
booms and bashes of
limbs now the thickness
of my upper arm,
around my biceps and triceps,
my bulging,
distance runner,
middle-aged distance runner
upper arms,
guns,
pythons.
I remember once
thinking that when
I stand
next to Sean,
the Power Miler,
I look so
much more like
a body builder.
So maybe
the scale
should go thusly:
The wind has progressed from tearing limbs down the circumference of Sean’s upper arm to the wind now tearing limbs down the circumference of Tim’s upper arm, my upper arm.
I’m going to get up some gumption in a few minutes and take the camera out into the street to show what I saw from the porch in both directions, lake bound, north, towards Magazine, and river bound, south towards Patton and Tchoupitoulas.