The mangled limbs bent low enough for me to sit, but only with my feet limp and nearly double-crossed on the ground.
The branches gave in slightly from the heft of my body but pushed back just as hard, taking my measure, steadying my grip.
The sun breached the morning shadows and this November day began to feel more like a spring day back home.
How impressive was this twisted concoction, a monument to the handiwork set in motion a generation or two before.
How utterly obsessed was I with this now continuous dance: breathing, watching, absorbing, separating, pretending, uniting.
This was not the New Orleans that I had imagined, but it was the one that I needed and the timing was just about perfect.
© TZampino 2020
Photo Credit: My Own Photo, New Orleans, 2019