one foot in the bayou

There are moments when one gets caught up
in the kind of nostalgia that calls for an afternoon
of porch cleaning and brass-hop listening,
red beans in a pot and teary-eyed memory.
It is Sunday, and I terribly miss the fair and decadent,
unacceptably humid and charming city that we
called home for six years.

And what is there? November will bring an opportunity
to visit for the first time in too long, and find out.
I imagine, that with every passing day, and with the
promise of a cool cleansing fall, New Orleans will
continue to be reborn. I look forward to finding out,
even if it means just a small slice. If it's a languid Sunday,
filled with the old smells and sounds, we might
just have to come get our clothes and stay awhile, as they say.

'she got one foot in new york city,
one foot in the bayou'
-File'