Pontchartrain

Heading downriver toward New Orleans on Christmas eve you can hear the bells from St.Louis Cathedral and the angelic voices of the choir singing traditional Christmas hymns. If you listen even closer, the sounds of horns playing out from Bourbon St… traditional jazz from Preservation Hall. These different sounds of syncopation… horns, bells, and singing in a blended rhythmic exchange of musical styles can only make the heart overflow with love on this magical night. But a peculiar thing happens on this night according to the National Weather Service that calls out for our attention. Every Christmas Eve winds out of the east rush from the Pontchartrain headed west toward a crescent in the river at the French Quarters… downtown New Orleans. All of this energy is pushing onward to the mouth of the river. Witnesses say you can feel the winds lift you up as though they were coming to take you away. Legend has it that Papa Noel, after his visit to the bonfires of the river parishes, leaves New Orleans from this very crescent in the river with these prevailing winds surrounding his sleigh guiding it downriver to the Gulf of Mexico and all points south. And yes the sound of someone in a loud voice or is it the wind against the currents, either way, ” Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.”

*copyright-jc2019-9-pixabay

Polaris

Oh bright star in a northern sea
As I wipe away the tears that once held me

I think that maybe what I see
From that bright star in front of me
In that land by a northern sea
Was never intended to be a star at all

Oh what could it be
In that land by a northern sea
Is it the twin star Sirius trying to fool me
For the brightest star, I’ve ever seen in a northern sea is Polaris
For if not what could it be
In that land by a northern sea.

*copyright-image by pixabay-2019-9

On The Way Home

When the dream came I held my breath with my eyes closed. I went insane like a smoke ring day when the winds blow.” -Buffalo Springfield

Take me away to the Black Hills, to a single mountain in the Dakotas where Crazy Horse is imprisoned in the rock. Let me gaze at his unbroken spirit on high… captured in granite only so the multitudes can see and understand his madness. Or is it our madness we must come to terms with?

Take me to the innocence of my youth, through endless days of summer as though I were disappearing in the deserted streets, through sugar cane fields and pastures beyond the old churchyard as we rode each night at the witching hour thru houses for the holy deserted by time and sorrow. We walked for miles upon miles through these hallowed grounds and never grew tired. We will lease forget these days of youth, joy, and laughter.

Keep a piece of my heart and save the rest for the crows as they will remember me long after these days of innocence have run out and are gone.

Image by Pixabay…Copyright 2019-09