This morning was one of Those mornings. One of those mornings where I could have happily bypassed work and driven on to Baton Rouge perhaps, or New Orleans, to visit Magazine Street and that little tobacco shop that I visited last many years ago.
It's a rare thing for Louisiana in August--the temperature is comfortable. Ernesto has stirred up enough dampness and clouds and low temperatures that it has sent our otherwise very high 90's plummeting into, this morning, the mid 80's. Downright chilly, for us tropical folk. Mix in our usual high level of humidity and suddenly I've got weather that invites me to open the throttle a little and point Betty and I down a nearby state highway, one of those squiggly black lines on your map, wandering like ants dipped in ink, framed by the frighteningly straight, bland blue bands of the interstates.
Perhaps I could even take another loner with me on this work-shirking trip. Pluto, perhaps. We could both hit the highway, me in the lead, my black beauty rumbling along the winding roads, cooled by the low temperatures, eyes filled with the overhanging trees and the shreds of fog and horses grazing in open fields, Pluto bobbing along behind me like an eager pup, anxious for the open road, enjoying the company of a fellow traveller.
The times that memories are made of.