A moment in Paris
Written in Paris on a Wednesday afternoon in April.
It’s 1pm, the church bell has just chimed alerting me to the time. I’m sat with an iced latte and my trusty notebook on the steps of the Cafe QJ.
The sky is a faded cornflower blue, the whisper of leaves in the wind from the plane trees that line the pavement in front of me.
I can see the washed out dove grey rooftop, curved against the sky, and the corner of the vanilla stone building. Window after window, narrow rectangles framed and with a view out towards me, sitting here in front of the church. Black metal railings at the bottom of each window, just one tiny balcony is occupied. Two young women eating lunch and chatting.
As I listen to the sounds of horns beeping, buses pulling up and away from the kerb on the other side of the trees, tourists and locals alike walking at different paces, I want to press pause.
To stop and consider what these city streets were like years ago, with less traffic and less technology.
The juxtaposition of the old and the new. The architecture, beautiful buildings and their history, holding their own against the changes in climate and culture.
Sitting here writing feels indulgent and also much needed. A moment of calm reflection.
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