Je regrette

Think of the wren
and how little flesh is needed to make a song.

from Why Regret?, Galway Kinnell

It takes me a while to get into a Paris mood, and on this trip it came on the last day as Laura and I moved from market stall to stall in the Rue de la Convention while Senegalese aromas drifted by, then the clean smell of the best sea fish, then roasted chickens, potatoes that caught the drippings, then the colors of abricots blushed pink and rose, cherries, red and black currants, and so many varieties of strawberries. She bought much and assembled a most wonderful lunch to send me off, complete with a Corsican rosé and the lightest of chocolate cakes.

These days horizontals and reflections most often capture my attention. And portraits.

Il est cinq heures (It’s 5 a.m.)

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