Quiet Reflections during a Rain-Soaked Sunday Morning


To finish the moment, to find the journey’s end in every step of the road, to live the greatest number of good hours, is wisdom.  . . . Since our office is with moments, let us husband them.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Experience”

I’m deeply saddened for residents on the Texas coast who have endured the hell of this weekend’s hurricane. Homes and businesses destroyed and infrastructure horribly fractured–I made many friends in Corpus Christi and Rockport over the past few years, and my heart aches for them and their friends. It takes long stretches of time to repair property and lives. Spending this weekend in Palestine, I have known only continual rain and darkened skies. My home is hours north of the coast, so I know I’ll return this evening only to a wet neighborhood, but not a storm-ravaged one.

I gave myself some quiet space in the gallery this morning to pore over some of Emerson’s writings and see if I could scribble out something meaningful in my journal. The statement above resonated with me because I have believed it for years, and it helped me keep my sanity during all those high school classroom sessions. I appreciate the words this morning, because I have plenty of college work to complete for classes in the morning, a watercolor lesson to give in the gallery this afternoon, and several paintings in progress before me that need to be completed for the coming holidays. I could be overwhelmed at the tasks, but instead pause to appreciate how delicious the moments are here.

I have been a YouTube junkie for over a year now. On my laptop I’m always dialing up something for “company” to listen to while I work. This morning’s companionship is titled “Rainy Jazz.” Every time I look up to see rain pouring outside my window, or hear the blast of a diesel horn in the railroad yards two blocks away, or the swish of a car slushing down the street below my gallery window, I feel something warm inside me. The Historic Inn at Redlands will be quiet inside, today. The Red Fire Grille across the hall will not open. Throughout the morning, I’ll hear the door outside open as parishioners attending mass across the street at Sacred Heart Catholic Church will drift into the hotel to look at historic displays in the windows and take a swing through the gallery. Looking up from time to time from my work, I’m feeling good inside, seeing my work all over these walls. This is without a doubt one of the proudest moments of my life.

Thank you for reading, and remember the ones living on the coast.

I make art in order to remember.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.



One Response to “Quiet Reflections during a Rain-Soaked Sunday Morning”

  1. Xraypics Says:

    We only get pictures of Huston here, but my heart breaks for people on the coast who have lost homes, and their lives are in tatters. We had similar but less dramatic effects just south of us last year with Cyclone Debbie; friends badly affected. Keep dry and safe David.


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