“In the spring of 1988, I returned to New Orleans, and as soon as I smelled the air, I knew I was home.
It was rich, almost sweet, like the scent of jasmine and roses around our old courtyard. I walked the streets, savoring that long lost perfume.”
― Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire
Cool mist spring morning on the streets of New Orleans
where mournful blues and hot jazz are always playing
Here, fragrant sugared beignets and pungent café au lait
wafts through the wet streets in the thick damp air.
In this ethereal light the city rests, feeling sacred and holy
The spires of St Louis Cathedral float in the slate gray sky
while nearby artists ply their wares without any cares
as hordes of gaudy dressed tourists go strolling by.
In the early hours this raucous city is peaceful
but for the lone ancient trumpet player
sitting on a brown metal folding chair
tattered horn case opened at his feet
a few shiny coins scattered within
enough for a cup or two or a brew
tough way to make a meager living.
We stop for awhile listening to his haunting song
letting it fill our souls with an essence of longing
for those sweet simpler times, so carefree and young
when we danced till dawn and cheap red wine was always flowing.
©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg
Author’s Note: Over at the garden, Margaret is asking us to write about our favorite town to take a stroll in. I chose to write about one of my favorites- New Orleans.
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