Fe eling haunted we look over our shoulder to discover that we have misplaced most of January, how did we lose it so fast? January’s
Br illiance and hope have faded to memory, if they were even a memory at all, the blink of an eye and we are onto another month, the shortest of the year.
U ncertain of what I am forgetting I try to break through the cobwebs of Valentine’s Days past, and find nothing where that day should be, forty four years with nary a celebration, it has been my fate to be alone for all of them.
A nother leap year would give me the opportunity to ask for a lad’s hand in marriage, but this is not that year, so I search the skies for answers, some clues to the memory that escapes me.
R aindrops the color of purple and green and gold, even some red and some blues, cascade over me to clear away the clouds and my memory returns, the memory of my truest love, New Orleans.
Y es, it is February, and Mardi Gras is calling my name.


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