Boochie Shepherd

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I have returned from my bout with Hurricane Emily.

I spent the last 8 days in Port Aransas, TX off the coast of Corpus Christi. It’s a tiny little island, and we were beginning to think it might sink under the weight of the storm. But I was undaunted, and I managed to arise fresh and nearly reborn.

I had an amazing time. I went surfing. What kind of rocker would I be if I had not been surfing? And what respectable rocker doesn’t have a song about surfing?
I rode out to the beach late one night to watch the waves crash against the rocks and I poured my heart into a song. I can still smell the salt water in the midnight air, and I can hear God rushing the water to meet the shoreline. It really felt like we were the only people on earth at that moment and that God was singing a song for us, in a chorus of swells and crests. I would like to tell you that I can describe it to you, or that a moment like that will ever happen again in all my life, but neither of those carries much truth, if any.

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.
-Stephen King
“The Body”

I think you’ll like the song.

I came back from surfing, and Lindsey and I put Keller’s feet into the water for the first time, watching it ripple around his legs and wash the sand away from beneath him. His body touched the ocean before it touched grass or dirt…

The previous day, myself and the Dirty Bird were the only 2 on the beach as Emily pelted us with rain and wind so hard that we could barely stand. The rain and the sand stung my back as I stood there absorbing nature’s best. Imagine riding a motorcycle 90 miles an hour through a rain storm, wearing nothing but swim trunks, and you’ve got the idea. The sand was stirring across the beach so much that we could barely see. What power…

Maybe I’ll get to tell you more about it later. For now, I gotta sleep.

brandon mc