Photo by Sandra Busby
Edited in PicMonkey
As I look at my pictures, I am naturally drawn to the ones taken in Paris and the memories that accompany them.
Here the weather is fine, sunny, coolish. Not much going on here until the next football game traffic arrives, when we -- those who are not fans -- will have to stay inside our houses until the fans disperse. But now, it's quiet, lazy.
Part of me is here, sitting in my chair, listening to the fountain, looking at the pattern of sun and shade on the lattice work.
But part of me is not here. Where is that part? In Paris, yes, most certainly when I look at the large crystal vase of pink and red roses against the guilt, carved woodwork and I remember the afternoon Paola and I had lunch at Le Train Bleu. Lunch served by waiters in waistcoats with huge white napkins over their arms. Tender meat and gravy over mounds of potatoes. Crisp asparagus. Fresh baked break with sweet butter. And finally strawberries the size of your thumb covered in creme fresh, and served with a bite size almond cookie. Red wine, of course, and afterwards a coffee.
But, part of me is somewhere else. I must go and find her.