If a picture is a worth 1,000 words, I’ve just written a novel about beautiful, swampy New Orleans, Louisiana.
We traveled all night, landed at 8a, piled into Aunt Joanne’s car, and were immediately handed cold beers that we popped practically before we were buckled. From those first minutes, as we drove past levees and meandered closer to the heart of the city toward the wild mansion HQ where we stayed in the Garden District, it was non-stop photos, fun, and sweat.
Once you surrender to the heat and cut through the thick humidity that drapes like snaking vines over everything, collecting in heavy pockets of air perfumed like the citrusy scent of drooping magnolias, it is so pleasant, green, and full of time.
All week, I lagged behind everyone, photographing as we went and trying to capture every riotous flower and crumbling detail before I’d have to run, tripping over the rugged sidewalk, made craggy by the roots of heavy-limbed trees that upended the cement into knobby lengths along each road.
It was gorgeous.
Check back for the second batch of photos – and see all of the many, many I took in this gallery. Password: unclewillard.