Walking In the Eye of the Storm

I remember the acrid smell of something broken. Salty, sour, it permeated the Gulf Coast air like the scent of some fading electrical fire, or burnt gunpowder perhaps. A battle between sky, sea and land with humans in the crucible.

Looking out across a nearly empty motel parking lot, broken glass dully shone in the morning light. An early morning haze blanketed the wounded sky. A haunted sky, not yet ready…