Postcard #18: Singing the Blues in New Orleans
Great blog, amazing photos, poetry and a story.
I stop the car at the edge of a small town. From the corner, I can hear the trumpet blare, the owner taking deliberately slow breaths to elongate the sound, speaking mournfully. The saxophone accompanies it, lifting its spirits up with a lighthearted joy. I nod my head, bouncing along to the sultry rhythm sweeping across the dusty street.
I get out, smelling the warm air and wrapping my arms around it. They poke their head out, leaning their arm against the roof of Darth Vader, and wonder what I am looking at. ” I am looking at nothing, and yet everything,” I say wistfully.
Sweetness tickles the airAs the songs whisperAnd mourn a pastShout and celebrateA futureOf hopes and dreamsHanging on by a threadSweetness tickles the airAs the trumpets blareAnd drums beatWell into an endless nightListening to the…
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