Days and Moments

I don’t remember my trip to France.  I remember moments from my trip.

I remember Sunday morning just after sunrise, walking through the misty streets of Montmartre; the only footsteps echoing on the pavement were Trudy’s and mine.  I remember looking down the hill to the city of Paris and seeing only a gray blur.  I remember the shuttered shops and restaurants, then the warm golden light pouring from a bakery just opening for business.

I remember the landscape of Brittany flying by my window on the TGV, and trying to catch it all in my notebook.

I remember the bustle on the station platform and David’s face in the crowd, there to meet me.

I remember the sky, the color of an oyster and full of light despite the grayness and the clouds.

I remember the water and the old warehouses reflected like a Vermeer painting, something ugly transformed into something beautiful.

I remember the streets late at night:  every window shuttered, every blind firmly closed, no one around but me, under the dark blue sky.

I remember roses and hydrangeas still spilling over high garden walls in November and the tall houses with lace-curtained windows that I passed on the way to the bakery.

I remember the bridge garlanded with eerie blue neon lights at night that made me so dizzy.

I remember filling the hours walking and watching and writing and drawing.

I remember feeling free.



2 thoughts on “Days and Moments

  1. What a beautiful piece! I always feel that looking back on any trip or moment out of the usual is like trying to remember a dream where some images are stronger than others.


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