My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts

Living on The Gulf of Mexico

Galveston: Where the Breeze Remembers

It was architecture that first pulled me to Galveston—the grace of old houses standing with salt in their bones, their windows gazing out toward the Gulf as though keeping vigil. But architecture is only the doorway. The island itself is the true invitation.

At the edge of the sea, I let the Gulf wash over my feet. The water dances, sometimes playful, sometimes solemn, always carrying the ancient hush of tides. Its salt cools my swollen skin, and in that small mercy I feel the ocean’s quiet knowledge: it heals without asking.

Galveston lives in the wind. A breeze moves through every season, soft and forgiving in summer, when the mainland burns under an unrelenting sun. By winter, the same wind hardens into a blade, fierce and cutting, reminding you that island beauty is never without its edge.

The food is the sea itself, lifted onto plates—shrimp, oysters, fish, each one a hymn to saltwater life. For me, it is a kind of joy that borders on reverence.

It is not a large place—only about 51,000 souls—but that smallness carries a charm. The people are friendly, the mood is casual, as though time knows how to loosen its grip here. And yet, life on an island has its cost. Gasoline and groceries run higher, pushing you across the bridge to the mainland for bargains. Still, you always return, drawn back as though by an invisible tide.

For Galveston gives more than it asks. The streets hum with music, laughter drifts like confetti in the air, and ghosts lean quietly from the corners of history, reminding you that the past is never truly gone. Here, everything breathes—joy and sorrow, light and shadow, salt and sweetness.

Galveston is not just pleasant. It is alive. And in its breezes, I have found both comfort and haunting—a place that remembers me as much as I remember it.

My photo

Midnight on The Gulf of Mexico