#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

. . . And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

~ Excerpt from Gerard Manley Hopkins, God’s Grandeur

Unknowingly, Frank and I wake early into what is observed in France, a holiday after Pentecost–– Whit Monday – also known as Pentecost Monday (Lundi de Pentecôte). We walk toward a cafe, any cafe! for coffee. None are open. Oooops. Too bad. We separate. He goes to his meeting; I go off continuing to walk down the Champs Elysees toward the Tuileries. It’s a beautiful, stunning morning. I am very happy. This is the day before we leave. I go into the gardens, meditate, again, at the fountain. Ahhhhh. Breathe. And jog a little along the Seine, back toward the flat. Find some coffee to go. And a tea for my daughter. All is well. Our friend from Paris, Patrice, stops by. He wants to show us the new apartment he and Veronique have bought. It’s just nearby, a block away. Lovely garden, lovely, lovely garden in the courtyard. That’s all we can see. Then coffee with Patrice, and we return with him to his apartment to watch a video of his beloved Guru. A very special time with him. A sacred time. Then, a shift, we go back to the flat. It’s time to go out on scooters! Yikes! This is definitely out of my comfort zone. But my daughter and her boyfriend have done it the day before and had a blast. But, the traffic and crowds! We make our way on the scooters to the Seine, which is sunny and gorgeous and full of pedestrians, bikes, dogs, strollers. . . it’s nerve racking, but splendid. Ah, there is Notre Dame! All the sights! But I have to watch the traffic! We go up onto the bike trail. Yeek! Still, we are alive and well! It’s really fun, and scary! We are out for about an hour, and there is so much fun going on all around us. There is some kind of dance festival, and we watch that, and have coffee, and dinner in a little cafe. Then a cab back to the Champs Elysees (The cab driver tells us of all the fatalities of the scooters) where we must have the special brownie dessert one more time before we go at the Public Drugstore. Then home, across the Seine, full, happy, satisfied, grateful, cheerful, having survived out scooters. And they are all proud of me for being willing to join them.