‘Second-line’ cures what ails

Still sick and laying low in New Orleans. Reading a book about the demise of the Cathars – hardly the stuff of good cheer. Gerald’s gone out to buy me some more lemons for my herbal tea concoctions.

Suddenly, I hear a raucous brass band out in the street. I peer out the window of our 4th floor flat and see a big crowd approaching down the middle of the street. A second-line parade! Normally, I would rush down the stairs to join in with the festivity, but not this time. I decided not to push fate. Still, the second-line parades always have the same effect on people – just pure joy. So I stood at the window smiling and watching the whole thing – first the police escort motorcycles, clearing the road; then the big, spirited brass band; followed by the crowd, made bigger as it went on by with bystanders joining in. For the first time today, I felt this swell of good feeling. Still hacking and coughing, but heart filled with goodness. All is well. This virus too shall pass!

And when I die, like everybody else in this town, I want a second line funeral parade.