I'm getting a lot of mileage out of my last Sunday morning wander, here. Some Sundays are just like that. But let's face it, this is New Orleans.
Leaving City Park, I ventured much deeper into the cemetery than usual and had more fun. I love the shadows, the textures, and the messages in the aging monuments that are not readily seen in a rush.
There's always something just a little different that catches my eye. It may be its unique beauty, some funky arrangement, an unexpected burst of color, aging with grace, or some message that speaks to me in the silence and solitude of place.
These are a few of the things that spoke to me that morning, just in time.
The rain came quickly. Later in the week I found out that life-long artist, local presence, and a man around town I always looked forward to seeing; had passed away. This is my ode and thank you to George Dureau. I've loved his art, been in his presence, eavesdropped on many conversations, but was never brave enough to introduce myself. I will miss him. He was New Orleans. Today, I shed my tears and celebrate him, his life, and his undying love for New Orleans.
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