Jazz and Hurricanes

Once there was a hurricane warning and I walked down to my neighbors’ to watch the wind thrash through the weeping willow tree in their front yard. Each branch was being tossed around like a massive strand of hair, while the trunk of the tree stood firm. I started to wonder what the lake looked like, so I walked on top of the levee as it curved around the bayou to Lake Pontchartrain. I couldn’t believe what I saw there.

It was like the circus had come to town. Whole families had brought picnic baskets and sat down to watch the lake surge in its concrete confines. People were riding bikes back and forth, walking along the shore, witnessing the wind at work. It was the best show in a city that never stopped performing. The hint of fury, the touch of danger, inspired.

I thought I heard a saxophone in between gusts of wind. I followed the levee around towards the sound. The saxophone grew louder, mixing with the wind in an improvised duet. I kept walking. Closer. Until I heard and saw a pair of loose white silk pants flapping furiously in the wind.

A man was facing the levee, totally alone, playing his sax into the storm. Wind and jazz and silk pants mingled as I sat in the grass watching. The three sounds took turns, as one grew louder and drowned out the others, then back again.

I watched and listened until he noticed and came over. He talked about his mentor, Cannonball Adderley, as if it were everyday that he came down to the levee to play jazz with the storm.