I’m not sure why, but I find myself doodling snails on my margins when my thoughts escape me.
I’m baffled, but the rational side of my mind always finds a way to explain my musings.
An endless spiral that I want to escape from; the longer it grows the more my fears shriek!
This endless curve of road drag me down and down and when I think I’m about to jump, the pencil turns into something unexpected.
The head of the snail forms and I am baffled once more. Could the head represent the randomness of life?
Or am I still trapped in the spiral?
A spiral much like a whirlpool against the tide.
The ocean of Corpus Christi has many dangers; yet it is still a place I long to return to near the days end.
Can Corpus be called a sleeping fishing hamlet?
I think it so, quite often. Is Corpus sleeping?
When it turns days so busy and focused I don’t know how it does.
Oh Corpus, beautiful and cold, how you baffle me…
Swirling In It,