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The feelings that came to me this morning, As I drove out of the fog. Memories, And the vestiges of memories, that constitute Pieces of my life still within me Yet drifting away, fading in and Fading out. Dear sweet dreadful life. The fog so settled around my neighborhood, So insistent and persistent and intransigent, But only a short drive in my trusty car Took me out of it and, in a way, Out of myself, and in another way, Deeper into myself, to see the sunrise. The air at the top of Hills West Brisk, just brisk enough to be bracing, And, blessedly, not another soul Around, just me wearing a hat And playing the part of poet to myself, To myself, whoever that is, playing my part. And the sun and the clouds and one bird On a branch about fifty paces down The hillside all playing their parts, too, In this early morning of Mardi Gras, A holiday I don't mind observing With my own parade and masque Within my own mind, only Sharing it with you my secret friend, Dear reader. So let us feel the cold, Clean air and the ashes under our feet From the brushfires of summers past As we dance to the music of the rising And prepare to give up whatever we must, The future, the past, these memories, Even as they do their own dance Across this beautiful changing horizon Of our lonely and beautiful lives Before the business of the day begins.
Laissez les bons temps rouler!
A beautiful contemplation, Jonanthan - Are you celebrating this final day of Shrovetide in The Big Easy?