… makes its way from the riverbend all the way to the horizon, blanketing the Marigny and Treme in its path. Lake Ponchartrain in the distance looks like someone hastily ran a dirty eraser over it to make new plans. Will the lake be blue, green, or grey later today? Bridges and antennae poke their heads out above the fray as if it to proclaim that they will be seen. Funny that the mysterious mist avoids the French Quarter altogether and keeps its business to the other side of Esplanade and beyond. Silly buildings, the fog can drown, you cannot.
Smokestacks in fog-muted light can be very alluring.
And I think of Ray Davies of The Kinks who was recently shot in the leg somewhere between the Quarter and the Marigny.
Gorgeous changing town. Unstoppable crime. Invincible tourists.
I don’t know when and how, but I wish you could sit here and observe this morning world with me some time.
Whoever you are.
