The Bayou Tales Part 1

*** The Bayou Tales -Part 1 ***
-Atchafalaya Basin, Louisiana
(#StorytellingSalem #999,979 out of 1mil:)

🎶 So I been travelin’ ‘cross this country—
Town to town,
City to city,
State to state;
Sittin’ down in random locations—
‘cross this nation—
With a whiteboard in my haaaand~
I been askin’ ppllllllllll:

“What’s Yor Story?” 🎶

And when I was in the swamps of Louisiana, sittin’ crosslegged on a mossy dock ‘long the bayou,
an old man with a gator-tooth necklace ‘n a crawfish bucket sloshed his way up, squinted at my board, n with a voice as thick as bayou fog- started to verbalize:

“Mmm…lemme tell ya ‘bout da night the swamp come aliiiiiive, cherrrr.”

———

“Full moon highh, crawfish lowww,
Tide pullin’ backk, but the winds ain’t sloww.
I was out near Henderson, fishin’ for cats,
When the trees start hummin’, an’ the air went flat.

Not quiet… nah. Too still for that..,
Like the swamp done paused.. Like it took a breath flat.,
Then BAM! Out the reeds, come a light blue glow,
Like will-o’-the-wisps- dancin’ -all in a row.

I ain’t run—too old for fear,
Just lit my pipe an’ leaned in near.
Seen ‘em twirlin’—spirits or bugs,
But I swear they laughed when they passed by my jugs.

A possum stood up on his hind two feet,
Tappin’ a tune with a crawdad beat.
Then the bullfrogs chimed in, low like bAss,
Made that bayou feel like outer spAce.

Heard an ol’ chant from a shack down south,
Where Mama Jo stir gumbo with a silver mouth.
She say: “Bayou’s got secrets, child, don’t blink—
Or it’ll pull ya down faster than you think.”

I seen a snapper blink with human eyes,
An’ a ghost boat float ‘neath them cypress skies.
But strangest of all, I swear I seen—
A girl in white dancin’ where the moss hangs lean.

She ain’t speak, but her steps did sing,
Spinnin’ on water like a blessed lil’ thing.
She looked at me once, smiled all slow,
Then faded ‘way with the fireflies’ glow.

By sunrise, it all done cleared,
Just swamp again—ain’t nothin’ weird.
But I keep my lantern lit by the pirogue door,
Just in case them spirits come ‘roun’ -once more.”

———

He tipped his hat made o’ cane reed ‘n rope, dropped a live crawdad in my palm; then limped off to the edge o’ the fog; before turning aroun’.

And there I sat, still holdin’ my whiteboard—
Askin’ ppllllllll:
“What’s yor Story?”
Waitin’ for the next person to slosh my waaaay.

(#StorytellingSalemstory #999,979)