Without further ado:
SEA ROSE - Preface
Nightmares are subjective. They are as personal and intimate as the closest of relationships, sometimes more so. Just as one man’s Juliet could be another’s Medusa—one’s nightmare could be another’s dream.
The jury’s still out—the jury in my head that is—on whether or not the events I experienced in the last year constitute a dream or a nightmare. I remember that it started out pleasantly enough before the experience twisted and turned—winding through darkness, past garishly colored incidents and pausing briefly in gray. Calm was never part of the equation.
On a perfectly pleasant day in August—an uncommon thing on the southeastern edge of Texas—my slumber began. Sultry is a kind way to describe a typical late summer day in this part of the world. Most just use words like sweltering, sticky and miserable. So a day that carries little or no humidity is a welcome respite. People come outside to enjoy it in masses—staying out from discovery until late at night reveling in the reprieve.
With a history every bit as thick and rich as New Orleans (but not quite as gritty) Galveston Island holds its own. In playing gracious host to pirate lairs, enduring massive hurricanes and wars, the sandy island has entranced layers of generations and captured their hearts and souls.
Something undulates just beneath the living surface of this island town. Natives may not recognize it, but when you grow up in a place where the dead have always remained that way, you can sense the difference. Their memories can be felt throbbing from the aged structures that they inhabit. Their stories continue while the rest of us move blindly between, around, and through them.
Very few are entrusted with the secrets of those who have gone before.So...tell me what you think!
