This weekend in anticipation

This weekend. Mississippi in June. High of 96 with 95% humidity. How many of these former denizens of the petri dish known as New Orleans are going to be melting on the pavement? How many complaints will we hear over the weekend?

I've got to listen to the North Mississippi All Stars a bit. Drink a little cold beer in the sweat of the Summer. Tomorrow will be the first day of Summer. Saturday afternoon will be the beginning of the ordeal. Maybe we'll drink beer and play dominoes under a bare lightbulb. That would be poetic.

I want to listen to the rythm of the weekend and hear the zing of the insects and the cry of the mourning doves. A little juke joint magic and a little restless sleep in the heat of the night.

Would Rod Steiger approve? Where is Mr. Tibbs? Check the early cotton, Virgil. When they fade into the past, the pictures get bigger and broader. Paint the picture in the colors of Rembrandt and the other masters. Cut the stone from the marble of Michelangelo and Davinci. The simplicity of the place should make it easier to understand, to see the themes and patterns.

Tell a story. Hear the gators gutteral cry in the night. Feel the lightning in the summer sky. Drops of sweat trickle down your arm and face.