The alarm got us up before the sun fully awoke we pulled our sleepy bodies out of bed got on our grungies not even fixing coffee yet, got our gear together in the pickup and headed for the peninsula where we hoped the sand bass would be schooling, searching for some breakfast of worms or flashy things that looked to them like food. If we were lucky we hooked a few which we would cook later or save for the freezers back home.
When we got back to the campground we’d comb our hair brush our teeth and head into town for Pat’s Cafe who served the best biscuits, eggs, hashbrowns, and pancakes in the region and if we were lucky Pat herself with her long black hair and **** lips and substantial hips would stop by and in her Texas twang and charm she’d tell us about their farm we’d speak of our wives and some of the small details of our lives and how we loved that large beautiful body that sparkled and sang to us each spring and how we savored dipping into Lake Whitney.
In late afternoon we would laze about the RV discussing Theilhard and Jesus and Charlie he’d speak of Bob Wills and we’d share trying to make sense of the spirits there and how they made us leap and soar. We spoke in sync and explored lines of novels, and fascinating texts that made us eager to discover what was next that would make us laugh or shed tears of all those memorable years we’d been brothers afloat of the same waters becoming men who hoped to make their mark spark something good in the minds of other seekers who also drank wines fermented in corridors of learning who had the same yearning for knowledge and truth embedded early and deeply in our youth.