I’ve had a hankerin’ for a decent strawberry. Though I missed the wild strawberries of March due to a ca-razy month of book promotion, life has calmed down enough for me to indulge in the search for the best strawberries. I found these two steps from my door on rue Mouffetard:
We shrieked with glee at the little white petals!
Something weird happened to my brain in Rome. When I was there I was able to speak to Christophe almost entirely in French. Easily! There must be something about hearing another language that you barely know (Italian) that made me confident in the one language I sort of know (French). Of course, my super confident bilingualism didn’t last when I returned to Paris. Instead, something else happened. The running monologue in my head has remained quiet. Not in a reflective kind of way. A stunned kind of way. This odd sensation is frightful and terrible for writing, but it’s good for picture taking so bear with my photo-laden posts.
I hope I’m not having a stroke. Do you smell toast?
A few bursts of strawberry red I’ve noticed on my urban hikes around Paris.
Oh Jef Aerosol. You do good things with stencils and spray paint.
Marco… yep, some of my brain is still in Rome. I found the store where they cancel First Day stamps. Stamp collectors, on average, are an odd bunch.
Geraniums are lapping up spring sunshine.
In you best Madonna…. who’s that girl. Even the Metro sign looks like it tastes like candy.
Best comment ever:
A reader writes after reading PARIS LETTERS: “I am de-crapifying my house, looking at my schedule and finding more time for me and important things.”