I tried to lift my arms, but one was somehow caught my shoulder bag, and the other barely touched the hat’s black brim before it went whirling off my head.
The hat, Spooky, tumbled over the grass and clumps of fallen Spanish moss, landing near a stately live oak.
I rushed to the tree, bent to retrieve my errant bonnet, and heard a small tinkling sound, like a distant giggle, whereupon Spooky lifted aloft once more. I watched as she gained altitude, caught a downward shaft of air, and glided down over Factor’s Walk and on toward crowded River Street.