Montmartre— dans la lumière et l’obscurité
Now, you know, I’ve been dreaming of the trip— now that it’s over. As I did before it was born. Friday was two weeks since we left for farther shores. It went by fast and slow, as time does.
Felt like four days; felt like four weeks. Away –and three cities away– will have that effect.
Life is different —and the same— when you return. That is to say, life is the same but you’re a little different.
We had Springtime in Paris— a first for me, despite it being my fourth trip to that city. I found myself at times missing the Paris of Winter, but maybe, really, I was missing the Paris of a different time. It occurred to me even while there, enjoying the sunshine and warmth (not evident in these moody images— these are images of other times, perhaps.)
Time (through people and politics and other dark forces) has done a lot of damage of late. It ripples out. You can feel it, even on the first Springtime Friday canalside, when boozy picnics abound on the quays, all laughter.
I’m still processing and unpacking a lot from this trip. It‘ll be awhile, as I find time here and there to think and write. It was a wonderful trip, though. It’s always good to get out of one’s day-to-day and have a shift of routine and perspective. In the meantime, Paris is as photogenic as ever.