| XIII Paris wakes up. Another day in the list of days past and future. Still, with a Corot sky. Rubber tires buzz on the paving stones replacing the cart-clatter of years ago. A stroll through the Luxembourg gardens with a cellular phone and gossip new from an ocean away. The lion paces in the zoo at the Jardin des Plantes. The paving stones are dark-wet clean and ready for dogs and pigeons and mankind. |
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| XIV Weary. And a little dizzy. Stendhal's syndrome perhaps. A bombardment of the senses. This dense but healthy education of walking the paving stones of ancestors. But there comes a time to return home. To be alone with gathered souvenirs. To sleep with them. And on another day, if all goes well, to rearrange them into something new and different and a little strange to the world. As homage. |
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