Living in New Orleans, I have become intimate with a multitude of new experiences.
A far-a-way trumpet arcing over the din of cars, and the perfume of a Confederate Jasmine mingling with the aroma of freshly flamed Oysters Rockefeller are a daily occurrence.
No one thinks twice about spontaneously breaking out in dance, or staying up ’till dawn.
The crazy guy who rakes your curb debris has a PhD in Anthropology and can identify your aura.
And, the bank president calls you ‘baby’ because that’s just what they ‘do’ here.
Though we may have to run like hell every once in a while, from a pissed-off storm, we never, ever, forget to play- even with vegetables.
Ain’t Life Grand…
|The Garden Trugs
|The weather is mighty fine down here.
Photo taken mid- April
Just 6 weeks later!