Brownell Memorial Park, Morgan City, Louisiana |
I knew when I turned into the Brownell Memorial Park that I'd see a tall white tower, but I experienced much more.
Brownell Memorial Park, Morgan City, Louisiana |
First came the devil's horses. Having survived the assault of the devil's pains-in-the-ass only a couple of weeks before, all I could do was laugh at the quantity of all these creepy, yet oddly-attractive, over-large insects.
Brownell Memorial Park, Morgan City, Louisiana |
While I laughed, I continued walking, picking my way carefully through the black grasshoppers.
Note: I never mentioned the crunch-crunch I experienced at Sabine, did I, as I walked over all the little dried crab claws, the orts of birds' daily feasts?
So I was laughing while avoiding the black grasshoppers, alone on the path, lined on both sides by cypress knees and water and tall trees with Spanish moss. I heard birds. It was almost idyllic.
Then came the bleating of the lambs. One bleated, then several answered. Another bleated, and several answered.
It was all very Blair Witch Project-y, with me playing the role of an unnerved and expendable Star Trek extra, about to be taken out by a creature from the depths. Because lambs - why and where are they? Sacrifices tied to a stake, awaiting dusk and the approaching monster?
In New Mexico, all I had to be paranoid about were bears and mountain lions. In Louisiana, who knows what lurks in the swamps.
The next day, I learned what made the eerie sounds:
Louisiana, you're such a jokester.
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