enchantè, Paris

enchantè, Paris!

enchantè, Vanves!

enchantè, and namaste!

i have again been on the go-go, my friends!

i walk. i eat. i browse. i pause. remember to breath, then continue walking.
i read every foreign word; i smile and i can ask for the check and apologize
like a professional. i can take you to where the sales are, where couture dines.
i walk. i worry i am lost. i most likely am. then, i accept that fact, and
continue walking -
into the snow flurries, against the sadness of rain, away from the sunlight.
i watch everyone smoke. i smoke, too. sometimes. here and there.
sometimes from here to there. i accept my immature smoking status
amongst a city of avid inhalers/exhalers. damn, they make smoking sexy.
again. yes, i just said smoking is sexy, again.
i look into crowded - understatement - cafes sifting
through the talking heads
to find a suitable table worth writing at for a time. worth investing 6 euros
for a cafe au lait, a cafe creme, espresso.
worth 2 hours - understatement - deciphering the french that swarms
through the smoke and into my hair and kisses the white foam
of my creme confection.
their vowels purse and i, with envy, of their lips that oui and oui
past the foam to create a creamy sentence of gossip
or business
or friendship.
i flirt. with anyone selling me my pastry. young girl. young-ish boy.
salt and pepper, or just salt, cardigan button down.
Egyptian. selling up front while yells to mom in the back,
Oz behind the curtain. lever pulling, croissant counting.
i flirt hoping this time it will be free.
this time they will sell it to me for less than advertised.
this time, i have most certainly lost my marbles,
and the romance of a country like that may never exist in this time again.
i side step the rain, i Lindy hop it.
i look up to washout sadness.
when eet rayns een Paris, eet ees really quite saad. eet ees.
yes, she says.
beautiful, steell, but sad, yes. and she knows. she lives here.
but, steell, walk, she urges. steell, walk, eet will bee beautiful.
so i trust my gorgeous cousin Cristi Ros. i always trust family.
so i do. i walk until the sun appears behind the tower after a snow cap.
the cars dusted as my pastry crust.
the windshield,
the pane of glass, i point through when ordering.
smiling. mildly flirting. hoping for free but will receive full price.
always full un-romantic price.
i walk. i flee. i navigate. i shock myself with a matter of following my instinct.
a left. a right; past the US Consulate into the roundabout.
past the marble. all the marble. follow until the light.
follow until you reach the light.
follow your footsteps into your light is reached.
follow your light.
always.
well, lately i tend to follow it closely.
i follow.
i follow the masses to the sortie, the exit? yes, the exit.
and up into the day. the river walk awaits.
the bridges will not walk themselves.
remember to breath, to walk, to pause, to sip a cafe, then walk on.
taking all forks, and hoping to return again.

namaste, your beautiful people!