From my window I can see Paris in the moonlight. I sit each night and write in my travel journal and feel in communion with the people in the other apartments across from me. Sometimes they are reading. Or in their kitchens. Looking in a mirror. Faces illuminated in the glow of computer screens. Standing in an open window. Leaning back in a chair talking to someone, their arms folded behind their heads. Yesterday I saw an elderly woman with white hair putting her hand on her brow as she looked down into the street. Last week a young redheaded woman was leaning against the railing of her balcony. She looked defeated. Her small dog stood next to her. She stood there for a long time smoking in the late afternoon sun. Heartache in Paris. Or headache. I can't tell which.
A thousand stories for every window. Charles Dickens, among many others, runs through my mind when night falls on Paris and I am up here in my perch.
A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!
In the day there is visual poetry in the streets. I have never seen so many flowering trees in all my life. I marvel at the variety, color, and scent. Small clusters of bouquets hanging off the branches. The world and all the things in it feel so sharp and focused. Animated. Glowing from the inside. I love. I see. I love again.
I found some Leo & Pipo paste-ups I was searching for here and further afield in the 16 arr.
And other street art.
Chrissy who is fluent in French, translated the one below for me.
Give me your hand to go into the snow.
A rogue poet on the streets of Paris!
I bow to your mastery, unknown stencil artist. Oh the intricacy & layering involved!
Bravo clap clap clap!
Parisian umbrellas have style. If you open them in the rain you will have a perfect fondant cake floating above your head. This is not a bad thing. Not at all.
Getting in and out of the tiny tables is fraught with peril. So far I haven't toppled anything or crushed anyone. Not yet. There is still time.
So many windows.