Writing

The wind is howling outside and for a few seconds I wonder if our feeble nylon shell can take it. The thin aluminum poles bend and sway with every gust. For a moment I almost consider praying, but quickly cast the foolish gesture aside. I tend not to be the praying type. I can recall a song by Robert Earl Keen called Tom Ames Prayer with the line “prayin’s the same as beggin’ lord I don’t take no charity.[1]”