Short post today. My afternoon was taken up with motorcycle maintenance, and it wasn't a zen experience even though there were plenty of tests for my patience.
I'm working on a small project employing my trademark, drifty prose that readers from New London, Conn. and my earlier days in Boston may be familiar with. Call this an impressionistic prose poem, short on details while pregnant with how I experience my new home after two weeks....
New Orleans, if the humidity doesn’t kill you the heat will set your sweat glands free to do as they please. The air, redolent with decadent scents and enticing promises, hangs like tinted gauze over the parti-colored tapestry of a metropolis woven with dreams and small scale miracles. New Orleans, robust and sultry, seductive and forthright, is a city plump with secrets that wears its passions for all to witness. When New Orleans winks, wise folk smile and exchange knowing glances.
Have you been to New Orleans? If you’ve been once, you’ll want to go twice. New Orleanians are among the most blessed of Americans; they daily sup on cream and spice. A meal in New Orleans is food for the soul. A day doing nothing in New Orleans is better than a day at work. The play’s the thing and, in New Orleans, Play is king.
Fortune and Fate conspire in the best of unexpected ways. Common courtesy and uncommon revelry hold sway over the multitude of events that unfold in a day. West Bank, Uptown, Mid City, Riverbend, in all the faubourgs and all the corner grocery shops, where the levees meet the sky and the oaks knurl the ground alongside sidewalks, time spent in New Orleans is better than best.
That's it for tonight. I'll be back on schedule tomorrow with a story about dueling clarinets. I never got a chance to write about that in Bean Town!
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