Trinity Bay was flat this morning. Not calm, just waiting. When the wind dies and the water smooths out, you know it won’t last. Around here, nothing stays steady.
That’s how the country feels. Folks keep talking like we’re back to normal. Back to work, back to school, back to politics as usual. But the surface doesn’t fool me. Underneath, the pull is still there. Same anger, same fever, just quiet for now.
In Shoreacres, you can hear it in the small talk at the Waffle House. Conversations drift, and before long someone’s muttering about stolen elections or about Biden’s age, as if that explains everything. Nobody raises their voice, but the tension hangs there, like humidity you can’t shake.
Still water isn’t safe water.