The Crescent Commute

I've noticed an interesting thing while biking to my night classes recently--the odd shape of this city is to my advantage on my commute. I ride west, into the sunset, toward campus, and when I set out down my block, the sun lies immediately before me. But after only three blocks, it has taken refuge behind the huge trees that line my route. After another few blocks, it is behind the houses to my left.

So I don't wear sunglasses. But I've been considering them for an entirely different reason: I keep getting bugs in my eye (always my left one). On the warm and still days, they just hang at eye-level, I guess.

But I'm told that those aren't even the most dangerous bugs. Soon, the stinging buck-moth caterpillars will emerge to fall on us from the trees and cover everything else with danger. Their sting is supposed to numb you and hurt you. I hope I continue to have only hearsay information about the physiology of their effects, but my commute takes me regularly through Audubon Park, where live-oaks abound, those trees being the reason that these caterpillars abound in New Orleans. (Say, maybe they're the ones who take down the Mardi Gras beads left hanging?)

Follow-up note: I've solved the problem of what season it is in New Orleans: It's paper-writing season. After that, I guess it will be summer. (Paper-writing season would feel less unnatural if it weren't 78 degrees and sunny every day.)