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| Music: Always on My Mind Whispers - Home Old New Orleans Friday's Journal |
| Photo Credits: AlexySergeev, Stacks.of.Books, DockTales, Gray.Line, Turner.Real.Estate, Adventure.Talgache.Blogspot, Yelp, All.at.Sea, Flying.Cyprress.Blogspot, Lake.Pontchartrain.Basin.Foundation, Denis.Dwyer@Panoramio, LPWSA, Cozy.Rosie.Blogspot, Turner.Real.Estate, CNN, Bucket.of.Mud, Flickr.Creative.Commons & the following photographers: PeterCraig, EddPrince, KevinOMara |
| On the Banks of the Old Pontchartrain |
| The photos on this page are all of Lake Pontchartrain and its shores, taken in the Louisiana parishes that surround the lake: Orleans, Jefferson, St. Tammany, Tangipahoa, St. Charles and St. John the Baptist. The photo at the top of the page, taken in the city of Mandeville in St. Tammany Parish, across the lake from New Orleans, takes me back to the several years I worked there. I was usually too busy to take a lunch-hour, but sometimes I managed a lunch-20 minutes and often made my way to the nearby seawall. I would eat my lunch on a bench - maybe the very bench pictured above - under the ancient moss-draped oaks and watch the sailboats on the lake. I've eaten at many of the grand restaurants in New Orleans, but I thought then, and I still think today, that I wouldn't trade a spot on a bench under the old oaks, with a lovely lake view, for the fanciest restaurant on the planet. The title of the page comes from a line in a song by D. Vincent Williams. I have no idea why, but, for some reason, the line tugs at my heartstrings. How I'm hoping someday I'll come back and remain On the banks of the old Pontchartrain. -- Nancy |
| The Past Whispers On some misty morning, when the earth is hushed and still, When the fog obscures the treetops and hides both lake and rill, Go reverently and quietly, and listen for the sounds, You'll see the past and hear it, when the ghosts go on their rounds. Ghosts don't come in sunlight, they don't come in blinding storm, They gather in the silver light, when mist brings in the morn. They move cautiously and slowly, to make the moment last, Entertaining all who listen with whispers of the past. They talk of things that used to be, as they move along their way, And, all too soon, they disappear, as mist turns into day. You can watch in silent wonder, as their lines begin to form, You can hear them - if you listen - on some shrouded misty morn. Nancy Brister |
| Longest bridge over water in the world, Lake Pontchartrain's Causeway |
| Cypress in the bayou, Oaks on the shore. Spirits of the past, Ghosts of the future. All around us. Timeless. Marking time. Here long before us. Here long after us. Shouting quietly, Waiting to be noticed. Nancy Brister |
