B

A sparkling jewel on the hill. Scores of windows, draped in velvet and gold, tiny portals to the magic within.  Glowing warmth, welcome and refuge to all.

The white fortress–that’s how it was, as I remember it.

This is how it is–the haunted ruin, as I see it.

Darkness and gloom stretch for miles. Acres of fields and garden overgrown. Mother Nature and the bayou, once again victorious.

I brush away dust and mud to reveal what remains of our grand foyer. A lonely tribute  to the the golden age of a Duke and his court.

Countless footsteps, the dizzying waltz, the bold brass band and the tragedy of fire and spilled blood. The old tiles wear history well–still defiant and gleaming after all these years.

Handcrafted in marble and gilded in gold. One simple letter.

                                              

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