Lord of the Quiet Bayou February 6, 2016Posted by The Typist in Toulouse Street.
Mostly they come for the common ducks, the white dinner party escapees, the mallards, and the black dabbling ducks I can’t identify past the Casino toward Wisner where the mainstem Bayou St. John bends and you might glance a brown pelican.. There are many, obnoxious geese, filled with entitlement which will bite if not fed. There are the stately, stilted Egrets, which together with the placid white swans are the nobility of the motely, bread-begging crew. The lovers stand atop the half-moon bridge and bend their necks together as if all of a kind with the curvaceous birds.
A half mile away, where most people are too intent on their iPhone or heart rate to notice, often just out of site of the island where a lone yogi sometimes practices and the the hula hipsters often congregate, hidden by the mass of foliage on the northwest end of Bayou Metairie, this is where you find the lord of the quiet bayou. If there is a Spirit of Bayou Metairie it is the anininga, often airing his wings far from the madding crowd after his best imitation of a feathered Loch Ness monster on the hunt. This is the bird that diverts me from my walk, to stand on the marge in worshipful wonder. Countless joggers could pass on the path behind me without notice. Their earbud oblivion is just that; mine is the momentary suspension of connected time and space born of awe.