Thursday, October 29, 2009

Getting ready to fly

In about 12 hours I will be in New Orleans. It's supposed to be pretty warm though there's going to be scattered storms when I arrive and again Friday afternoon. That's when I will be on a bus tour of the city. Awesome timing, JP.

It will be hot and humid the first two days and I packed appropriately. Then the temps are supposed to drop like 20 degrees for Saturday. At least I won't be sweating bullets on Halloween.

I decided to skip the evening riverboat. It was becoming a very tour-heavy schedule and the weather might not cooperate Friday night.

I will see parts of the city still suffering from Hurricane Katrina. Some of the proceeds from the tour go to relief efforts. I had misgivings about taking such a tour, concerned it would be inappropriate and voyeuristic. But would it be better to simply stay in the French Quarter the entire time and act like the rest of the city is not hurting?

I expect plenty of revelry over the weekend, I'm staying one block from Bourbon Street. It's a good thing I was eating salad these past few days because I'm sure I will do some damage at the local restaurants. Maybe I'll return with some new recipe ideas.

This trip is a writing retreat for me, I won't be tromping around The Quarter the entire time. Might do a little bit of blogging, but you may have to wait to hear about this trip after I return.

That's it for now, got some last minute things to attend to.

No comments:

Flame and Bone

When I was made from fire
Poured into the tender vessel of caution
That keeps my smoke from rising
Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow
The world chilled my touched
Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone
One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk
Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want
For a clear path without the distraction
Of another man's boiling eyes
The tip of a finger
That oldest of all weapons
Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention
Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh
And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch
Prying open the tender seam
Where the oil of thought dews
Offering a new wick to ignite
Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief
That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour
The steam of breath betrays me
Before the glint of orange spreads
In popping bright waves
Eroding the fibers feeding it
Leaving naught but ash
As my shell of quietude falls away