I drove to Port Aransas. Yes hubs let me back behind the wheel. I tried to keep within the speed limit, but oh, those straight empty well kept roads!
We had to take a ferry across to the sleepy little fishing village,
which took all of 3 minutes and we wondered why a causeway hadn’t been built to span the fraction of a mile gap?
Perhaps ships had something to do with the decision?
The houses we viewed were nondescript, the agent couldn’t have cared less.
We managed a weak smile at the posted speed limit and came away chilled and ready to hit the road again.
I had walked, that morning, in search of the beach which we had driven on the afternoon before. A long flat expanse of sand, pristine and bare,
I came upon sign after sign,
“No beach access.”
I explored a little among the side roads and found marsh-like landscapes,
By the time I reached a place where I could walk to the beach my hour was almost up and I had to turn back.
I was cheered by this splash of color in the wash of sandy beige,
Our meal was not a picnic, we shared shrimp and a bread pudding with bourbon sauce at a restaurant alongside the marina where live music was performed by an elderly man with a fabulous voice,
It does look so darned cold doesn’t it?
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