In Jackson Square, an artist sketched my four-year-old daughter’s portrait in color charcoal, highlighting her red hair as the sun broke through the trees like a spotlight. On another trip, an artist painted a mystical henna tattoo on her ankles.
|St. Louis Cathedral at Jackson Square, New Orleans, La.|
On our first visit to New Orleans one hot, humid August in 1985, we left our New York double-step pace of life behind and understood what it is to move as smoothly as a puff of air crossing a bayou creek. Here, we learned to take it easy in the Big Easy, to absorb the soulful music and food flavors tempting our senses at every slow step.
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