Aryn and I gathered some friends and went on a road trip to Oak Alley Plantation, about an hour outside of New Orleans. The site was beautiful, with old, looming oak trees and the Mississippi River just on the other side of the street. I love going to these sites but it always feels like I'm stepping onto the scene of an old and terrible crime. There are old reminders everywhere, from the slaves' quarters to the big white house.
We parked ourselves on the other side of a field, sat for a picnic. After eating my lunch, I laid on the roots of a large tree, staring up into its branches, watching the swaying motion of leaves.