Two Canoes

Canoe #1. My little Old Town. I was on the Rum River again last night, managing to scare up a Great Blue Heron. When a bird is as tall as a man, it deserves the title "Great". A bit later, a hawk soared overhead as I paddled by. I stopped on the shore near the feral cat colony (to take a leak) and as I got out, I saw fresh little cat-paw prints in the mud where they had come down to drink. After the sun set, I headed back and was splashed upon by a frisky bass. A beautiful late-summers eve on the water. Everything in its place, everything OK.

Canoe #2. Came home, the Weaver was watching a special on the flooding and aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. There was my canoe again, piloted this time by someone else through the streets (canals) of what was once New Orleans. The water was polluted and stagnant. The ninth ward is under twenty feet of water. Fats Domino is presumed lost in his home that he wouldn't leave. Looters have been seen in the town. (Call out the National Guard? I'm sorry, but they are in Iraq.) A beautiful late-summer's eve on the water. But everything is wrong.

Louisiana, Louisiana
They're tyrin' to wash us away
They're tryin' to wash us away
Louisiana, Louisiana
They're tryin' to wash us away
They're tryin' to wash us away

-Randy Newman