I miss the old haunted streets and buildings I know so well; I miss the true cajun people who are among the friendliest and most charming in the world; the voodoo; the Quarter's oldest ghost and vampire tour, the dark & rich New Orleans coffee smell wafting from Cafe du Monde, the jazz music on every street in the Vieux Carré.

I indulge quietly in the haunting bits and pieces, which paint a picture of ironlace balconies, old streets, the echoing clomp-clomp-clomp of the mule-drawn carriages. As eventide turns darker and darker in New Orleans, the ghosties come out to play. The ghosts? Why, the ghosts are everywhere. In this place, whether morning or night, there isn't a moment when the ghosts aren't exploring about in some form or fashion. And I've no doubt that at least one of those ghosts looks and behaves very much like me.

Whether living in New Orleans or not, it's home. I had to of lived there in times past. Victorian times perhaps, in this all-too familiar place, familiar even before my first visit. I soon realized that New Orleans is forevermore in my blood; a feast for the festive soul.

New Orleans is still in recovery from the hurricane of 2005. All the more reason that she needs us, just as she needs her ghosts of support and victory. A willowy, whispy version of me still moves about within the living and breathing visions of when it was perpetually vibrant, bustling with street performers, artists, endlessly entertained tourists. That New Orleans is still there beneath the layers of time, behind the shadowy veil.

Today, she's finding a way to bounce back, like a great old moss-covered tree in the wind. With the help of her ghosts of time, New Orleans will thrive again as she once had. Look for me there, most likely floating down Chartres Street, Burgundy Street, Royal Street. The ghost of me can clearly see that this place is still as alive as alive can be. The spirit of New Orleans was damaged, just as she's been damaged many times before in centuries past. Her nature is to move forward and thrive again. And she always manages to rise above it all.

By Paulina Cassidy

Confessions of a Mad Doodler

Paulina is a strange little Canadian lass who lives in a mountain in Chattanooga, Tennessee, where she helps the gnomes seek rare gems and brew fine teas.

She paints, draws and writes in both her waking and dream time hours.

She isn't afraid of things that go bump in the night, and declares that chocolate from England is even better than chocolate from Venus.

Paulina has been a member of Enchanted Folk since September 2007

members.enchantedfolk.com/paulina