I miss the big booms of Gulf Coast thunderstorms, with their white flashes and window rattling rumbles. The kind of storm that feels as though you’re right out in it even though you’re in a house.

Once, in the days before children, in earliest years of marriage, we went camping with another couple. Dear friends. It was winter. We were young. It was cold. We stayed in a tent. The temperature dipped into the teens.

I have a love hate relationship with my sinuses. Normally, I think they’re cool. We breathe in and out and everything is good. I do my best to keep out the viruses and bacteria. But every once in a while, something gets in and we’re off to the races.

The house is unadorned. All remnants of Christmas are packed and in the attic. All except for the gifts, I received. I have a soft Christmas blanket, a fine new backpack, a lovely set of glass storage dishes, clothes, and memories, lots of memories -- music, walks, talks, food, fun, laughter.

Happy New Year! My first steps into the new year found me hiking in Gaudalupe River State Park. We did about five miles over hill and dale. Sat beside the river. Stood on a bluff and looked at the view. Ate some grapes and snacks for lunch.

We’re into the bait and switch Texas weather season. People come down. Listen to music. Enjoy the weather. Decide to move here. They do it in June.

Driving in a driving-rain isn’t what you’d expect. First of all, a driving-rain isn’t a rain perfect for driving. It’s just the opposite.

The rains are still falling and that’s good. The lakes and streams have yet to benefit, but I think that will come. Once the ground is saturated by these gentle rains, all we’ll need is a gully washer…

It’s amazing how long moisture stays in the ground when the sun isn’t beating down. In the summer a fair rain might last two days. In the fall, a fair rain hangs around as if it has nothing better to do.

I think I’ve entered a new epoch in my life, hinging on my hike to the top of Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas. I’d like to call it my Guadalupian Epoch…

Well, that was an interesting exercise. Five days. Writing every day, getting ready for the next day. Usually, I do what I’m doing now. Sit down in the morning and write.

Friday dawned cold and wet. We were all up early and ready to go. We’d had a good three days, but there was one more day left.

Tomorrow. It came. Wet and cold. Clouds swarmed down and hung over the hills as if to say, enough, you’ve thought about us enough. Time to move on. And we did.

Ah, sleep. On the morning of the second day, the grimness and exhaustion of the previous evening began to fade away with coffee and comradery.

We arrived at the Pine Spring campground in the Guadalupe Mountains National Park on Monday evening, my Ozona friend and I with his camper. Our Canyon Lake friend in hers. We ate a nice dinner. Made plans for the morning and retired to our quarters.

What a trip what a year.

By standard metrics, I’m old. My sixtieth high school reunion is next year. And I feel as though I look old, too. Gravity, after all, pulls and tugs and skin sags. But I don’t feel old, although I’m not sure what old feels like.

Sometimes I pull a thought and an entire sweater unravels. In the last three days I’ve written about the torture of waiting for an answer, the pain of getting something other than what you want, and my technique for dealing with it. I thought I was done, but lo and behold, there’s more.

Damp and cool is the way to go. I have a sage I planted this year in the garden area I created on the north fence. It struggled this summer. I thought it was gone.

It rained. One half of one inch. The ground is wet. I doubt any creek knows the difference. Still, it’s nice to be cool and wet.