EXCERPT FROM SARA’S JOURNAL
September 23rd, 1999
Saraphina
It rains in the night, ribbonning the streets shiny and washing away
what's left of the market -- abandoned strawberries and indigo grapes. Our
dormer blows with a makeshift blind, wetting the sill, blowing fresh air
into the little bachelor. In the morning I'm thinking about those lavender
fields in the Alps, weeks ago, when we were crisped with summer air and
the sunshine of the Plateau Glandasse, when we were sitting on the ground
in the evenings exhausting the variations of lavender honey on crusty
baguettes. Today we'll stroll through the Musee de Louvre without the
pressure to see it all; we'll dawdle at the river bank, the left side and
the right side to see if kissing's any different at each. The Orangerie
and its penultimate Waterlilies is closed for Millennium preparations --
no Monet today. Instead, an amicable consolation: The world's finest
collection of Post-Impressionist paintings at the Musee d'Orsay, with Van
Gogh, Gaugin, Cezanne.
This afternoon I'm working on the pastels, remembering the Alps, the
fields, the vineyards in between. Later, a stop at the cyber cafe, then a
buttery meal in the most miniscule of brasseries -- the kind where they
have to pull the tables out from the wall in order for you to sit down,
and they make up the dessert as they go along. Our waitress, the chef's
daughter, says, "For you, this evening, I have two small cakes with
poached pears, and three kinds of ice cream, home made, all together.
yes?" Well, alright.
At midnight, after the sun has set all the lights come up and the
city twinkles from the heights of the top of the Eiffel Tower. I'm
wondering where that Ferris wheel went, the one we rode the last time we
were in Paris, a few years back. In summer, at the Place de la Concorde
you can ride the wheel until it stops at the top, and look out at the
river, the tower, the boulevards, for pocket change. In early autumn they
move the wheel out to the Bois de Bologne, the 19th century hunting
grounds and strolling park. Too late in the year for wheeling.
In two days our chapter ends. Just this chapter. From here at the top
of the tower, we've a 360 degree view -- what's behind, beside and before
us. Our standing here, between the celestial and earthly stars, is
the result of both preparation and serendipity. It's because of the
generosity and good will of others but not without our own self-centred
gift-giving. It, like probably most everything, required and solidified an
enamoured commitment. Our Mosey gift leaves an indelible mark on us,
and whatever comes next.
