was was not a water moccasin

TIED THE PIROGUE to a ropy muscadine vine growing along the haunted oak tree, clambered up the moss-carpeted roots and onto its curving trunk, using the same vine as a kind of ladder to make my way up the face of the steep bank.

morning muscadine

LOADED THE PIROGUE into the truck early this morning and drove it to the landing at the park. Paddled down to the forks, the sun still peeking through the treeline. Plucked wild muscadine for breakfast and waited for daylight to come streaming through the vine leaves.

the forks

musical confessions

TRUE STORY. My audition for high school show choir was so disastrous that later in the semester when Bobby Gillette had to drop out, the director of the choir invited me to take Bobby’s spot, but only on the condition that I lip-sync instead of sing. I would merely be a place filler, in other words, a means of preserving the symmetry of the choreography. Under no circumstances could I actually produce any noises with my mouth. Of course I said yes. The cummerbunds were red, and so were the bow-ties. The music was Andrew Lloyd Webber. And there was a very symmetric starburst at the finale of the medley thanks to my pair of jazz hands.

golden age of catahoula, part 1

THE SHOT: A wide shot of the levee road on a sunny blue summer day. An old pickup truck enters the frame and winds down the levee road, leaving a cloud of dust behind it. It turns onto Highway 96 by Red’s Levee Bar and heads toward the Catahoula bridge.

improv

I PLAY MY BRAIN like a jazz trumpet.

                   I’m thinking of you, Juanita Juanita.

     I’m thinking of you, Geronimo Creek.