I’m driving back from the airport, towards the Westbank.

Just past the exit to the i-12, I look out.

I spot the faintest tinge of orange across the horizon.

It frames the downtown skyline, the Superdome especially.

The orange manages to give it an ethereal glow…

The rest of the buildings jut out from this orange line of the horizon,

and touch the blues in the sky, those beautiful blues that go from light to dark.

As I’m witnessing this beautiful sight, a blues song plays on wwoz.

A song, appropriately enough, about an uptown man and his love of the downtown.

I wonder if this is some cosmic gift, I looked towards the sky and see,

The moon is but a sliver of a crescent, shining alone above the superdome.

Once I get on the Crescent City Bridge, I look out towards the Westbank.

My home.

The darkest tinge of red, as red as roux,

as red as the stick after which our capital is named after.

This dark tinge of red shows where the sun will come up in a few minutes.

I stop and think how amazing it is to live here.

I realize this radio station I’m listening to is one of the few authentic radio stations.

This city is one of the few authentic cities left,

in this era of Walmarts, and McDonalds, this city retains its authenticity,

its culture, its spirit.