What might have been lost

On the fever dream of our southern snow storm

We grow up here idealizing the White Christmas — wondering of that feeling and chasing it through song. Technically, still we are chasing. But for two full days this January, we caught the cold blizzard wind of Mister Crosby’s vision: merry, and then so damn bright my eyes hurt.

For the first time in my life, I listened to For Emma, Forever Ago in its natural habitat. The pleasure was mine.

A plethora of possibilities before me, I set out to trudge through the snowy white and capture the singularity of it all. This is New Orleans, after all. No one’d being pouring a little salt (we were never here).

Walking down Octavia to the squeak of fresh snow and blissfully unaware of potholes below me, I watched palm fronds hold the white powder as naturally they do the sunshine — curious if they too had been dreaming.

The main thoroughfares were muddy — a browned banana of pavement, peeled and half-eaten. Thanks truck boys and other waymakers.

As the sun shone down on major-snow-day-two, I set out with only film in tow (pictures to come at a later date). I wandered back to Frostop for a second time and ran into a friend who’d seen my story from the day before. I wove back through the alley behind our home and cut up Fontainebleau and then Broad. A once daily drive was now covered in blinding blueish whites and silent as I’d ever seen it. The occasional sedan screwed into some flaky, frozen pile and stranded in the meantime. Our snowy pause.

Enjoy these photos from day one, the day it all came down. A full work day’s worth of snow in New Orleans, Louisiana. Snuck in a couple from the day after here too!