I Miss New Orleans

I miss the bright, warm colors of the old buildings and houses. I miss the sound of the distant saxophone coming from somewhere around the corner. I miss casual conversations with fellow passengers on the streetcar. I miss wandering into old book stores and getting lost in the stories, the creaky wood floors, and the friendly resident cat. I miss the mountain of powdered sugar on top of fresh, warm beignets. I miss blowing powdered sugar everywhere because I am dining with hilarious friends...and maybe delirious friends.  I miss the soulful sounds of the gentleman singing hymns outside the cafe. I miss the Mississippi River. I must admit I did not think it would be so beautiful. I miss sipping a savory Bloody Mary and hearing the loud conversations and music in the French Market. I miss the gypsy cab rides and the best poor boy I have ever eaten. I miss the impromptu folk concerts in the French Quarter and the man who is so moved by the music he has to get up and dance. I miss the peaceful, ancient graveyards and the story-filled thick air.  I miss the living of life there, the still, present living. I even miss the aches in my feet that prove I have wandered, and seen, and felt joy. I miss New Orleans.