Sunday morning before carnival
So it's about ten-thirty in the morning on the Sunday before Mardi Gras. In about an hour, there will be four parades rolling down the street a block away from us. I was just outside to go look for the newspaper, and was overcome for a moment by the stillness.
In just that short hour, our neighborhood will turn into a cacophonous riot of color, drums and spectacle. But right now there's a strange and pretty quiet before the storm. People are smiling at one another, but no one's speaking too much as we lurch toward the moment when, quite literally, all Hell will break loose. We're loading up coolers and trying to get a "good spot," but it's still ironically gentle at this moment.
It's as though everyone collectively is just enjoying the few moments of quiet left. I love that sort of thing.
In just that short hour, our neighborhood will turn into a cacophonous riot of color, drums and spectacle. But right now there's a strange and pretty quiet before the storm. People are smiling at one another, but no one's speaking too much as we lurch toward the moment when, quite literally, all Hell will break loose. We're loading up coolers and trying to get a "good spot," but it's still ironically gentle at this moment.
It's as though everyone collectively is just enjoying the few moments of quiet left. I love that sort of thing.