Leaving Jackson the other day, with no scheduled stops that day, I set off in the direction of New Orleans, looking forward to what would be one of my only tourist stops on this leg of the LaA tour. “A walk taking in the charming architecture of the French Quarter…maybe a glass of something in a music bar?” I mused to myself. I was looking forward to the possibility of chilling in this wonderful city for an hour or two, and the satnav indicated that I’d arrive in good time for supper.
But I had quite a strong feeling when driving south that I should head toward Baton Rouge, not NOLA. The sense didn’t go away, so I followed my leading. A case of my head wanting me to go one way, but my gut telling me to go another.
En route, I found a place to lay out the labyrinth and perform my little prayer ritual (in Walker, LA). The cows looked on, while folks started to arrive in the church car park nearby (none disturbed me, or perhaps even noticed what I was doing). Dusk was falling, and while storms and the possibility of a tornado had been forecast, all was calm while I walked around the labyrinth, the sun breaking through the cloud for one final, glorious appearance of the day.
The next morning, I went into the centre of Baton Rouge, laying out the finger labyrinth in various locations around the Louisiana Memorial Plaza, which stretches along the left bank of the Mississippi. I don’t know why I was meant to come this way, and in the event never got to a bar on Bourbon Street (or perhaps Chartres Street?) before it was time to move on from the NOLA area, but I felt very content that I had gone to the “right” place.
I will, God willing, have another chance to visit the Crescent City in this, the year it celebrates its 300th birthday.