It was damp & cold....the sort of stinging, bitter cold that gets into your bones and stays there. Trembling and tired, I went to sleep and dreamed of France in the Spring where it's colorful, poetic spring landscapes stretched before me for miles. Streets and parks in which I ambled happily along and lazed about in for long, delightful stretches. The light seemed soft, the people seemed...soft. I found myself humming the old Doris Day song... "I never knew the charm of spring
Never met it face to face
I never new my heart could sing
Never missed a warm embrace
'Til April in Paris
Whom can I run to
What have you done to
My heart..."
It was the time of year when sweet Paris truly resembles its most appealing of cliches. It was a day to discuss life and all of it's wild twists and turns over a glass of wine at a small outdoor cafe. It was a time when the city was suddenly awash in cherry and apple blossoms, daffodils & tulips, painting itself in the brilliant pinks, reds, yellows and greens of a Van Gogh masterpiece or, at least, that of a 1950's Hollywood technicolor musical. Paris in the Spring was worthy of the legendary songs and poems that pay tribute to it's beauty.
I smiled as I remembered the line from "Sabrina",
"Paris is always a good idea..."
It was here that pure joie de vivre was found.
And then the alarm clock rang...ah. Being in Paris IS always a good idea, even if I only get there in a dream.
Photos courtesy of Flickr.com
