SpringTime

When I left Paris last week, spring was strolling in. Blossoms and baby leaves everywhere, and sunshine that left my shoulders scarlet. Can't wait to get back and see the green bomb that's sure to have gone off since then. Five days and counting. The mountains are beautiful, and the water's cold and fresh here, but my heart is in the city.
I sat in the village square yesterday, and caught a whiff of someone's cigarette. It smelled like Paris. I sniffed a bit more, and sat on my quiet bench missing crowded sidewalks, musky metros, and the sticky floors of punk rock dive bars. Not everything good is nice. But that's what I've learned to like about Paris. The balance. I can spend a Saturday afternoon lying in the island grass at Bois de Vincennes, collect my picnic trash, and head to Stolly's for a pint, odd smells, and a conversation with one of the city's thousands of strangers. Life is good in the capital.