Where the trees squawk.
This city, home of the One of A Kind Texas Lady and her husband is also home to uncountable Grackles. They roost in the trees and make an unholy racket that can be heard from behind the tinted windows of top floor corner offices
We strolled through downtown last night, following the jen-yoo-wine Texas BBQ, admiring angels with trumpets poised and ready to sound a strong clear note. They say it will happen when a virgin passes by. A man on the street dressed in a work vest of municipal orange wielded a strange looking device like a gunslinger itching for a fight.
"He's probably frying grackles," I joked.
The Lady said, "The laser annoys them so they'll fly away." I replied to the effect that she couldn't possibly be serious, but she insisted she was. I maintain that it only makes them grackle all the more.
Later we enjoyed bluesy Telecaster perfectly picked by this man at this place.
And hospitality? These two Texans are its very embodiment. Their house is a thing to be treasured with lots of books, art--both pleasurable and practical--and neighborly love. Their backyard, as I told them yesterday afternoon, is a revelation. My exquisite host should post a whole slew of backyard pictures. It wouldn't be nearly as refreshing as being there in person but at least you would understand what I'm talking about.
Thank you, thank you, thank you my fine hosts and Texas friends.