Temperatures dropped unexpectedly this week in Texas. Unexpectedly because I don’t live by the newscasts or weather forecast.. just don’t. But we had enough forewarning (2 days of drizzling rain) to know to wear layered clothing, wool tights under my jeans. This is Texas. We don’t invest in long johns.. not until we make it a habit of camping year-round.
We we wander brush along the lake, picking up and rooting through boulders and football-sized stones for palm-sized rocks to take back to our campsite and examine. Cedar, cactus.. I wish I were surrounded by mesquite from back home … but the slow movements of pausing, bending over, stepping and sorting along the wooded ground takes me to the Gulf Coast instead, another childhood haunt. I’m looking for the perfect seashell, the perfect stone.