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| One of God's Best Kept Secrets |
| Louisiana There is a sound so faint at times if you don't take a moment you will miss this soft gentle rustle of life. It is the blood of the south flowing through the veins of her people coursing along so slow, so steady like the Mississippi. You will miss it if you rush, you will miss the smell of fried catfish waffing in the air, tickling your nose with the promise of a full plate. There is a cadence, the ebb and trill, shrill at times and then reaching crescendo with sounds of the Cicada's mating in the trees while the whole south is in attendance for their love making. Softly at times the wind moans as it struggles to push armsfulls of sticky black clouds across the bayous and across the cottonfields to the North. If you sit on the porch quietly you will feel all this, it carresses your skin as softly as the warmth from the Gulf, and wraps you like velvet. There is a flavor to Louisiana, a taste of richness a blend that makes you want to lick your plate and ask for more. |
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| Louisiana Winds It is a night of change, of challenging things so swift so smooth creeping in through a groove around the corner past the gate on and on could not wait nor hesitate whilst not be late. On steady, upward upward, climbing still tis the wind wafting ore an aroma more, or no, like a fog swift and chill, seeping still the cold, the cold, the bitter cold. A finger pointing crooked and bent a shadow sent across the ground moving swift, as night comes on then once more gone, the air is still. The sound was shrill from whence it came back again, now calm once more even score, and all that bent and trashed about has leveled out, softly shut the door. 2/08/01 �nea |
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