There it is... the most beautiful house in all of New Orleans. It lies delightful on the corner of Barracks and Chartres, lush and in ruins. Like something from a dream, it rises triumphantly from the barren, well-kept surroundings of the French Quarter. It is a fantasy. Perfection.
It cannot be approached from the Canal Street side. From that direction, the wonder is lost. You must circle around and approach it from the Esplanade side. That is the way to truly experience the house. On overcast days and sunny afternoons, late nights and early mornings I can often be found sitting on a post across the street, staring into it's unending glory, memorizing every break and flaw, each molding and subtle shade. I long to see the lucky beast who owns such an enviable piece of property. I speculate they have a cat.
There was a time when I thought the house was simply myth. I stumbled blindly onto it one day and fell to my knees, struck by sublimity. I noted to myself the corner it was located on so I could visit it again. But later, when I returned, it wasn't there. I searched and searched for the house, yet couldn't find it anywhere. Is it magic? Does the house only appear to those who need it? Does it travel about, move, lurk throughout the neighborhood? No, I was simply lost. But the house is magic nonetheless.
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