#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Insect House
The sky has been cloudless for days from wake-up until lights out. Stunning blue dome. We wake early and walk in the freshness across the river to our croissant and coffee and parting to go our separate ways. I walk to the Tuileries, passing some very flamboyant, dying white peonies and a sweet house for insects in a small public garden. I sit in a metal chair at one of the fountains where the ducks float quietly in the morning ripples and sunshine. For ten minutes, I meditate, tuning out, tuning in. I relax and breathe deeply. It turns out I have a chance to seem my dear friend Karin while she is in the neighborhood with her daughter to buy a wedding dress. We meet for breakfast at a cafe near the apartment where she is staying, and it is an exceptionally sweet moment, to find each other so far from home in such a happy place. We have wonderful conversation, and take a stroll to the river, meet a young American couple from Massachusetts who take our picture on the Seine with a view to the Eiffel Tower. It’s so bright and cheerful. I have walked seven miles before noon by the time I return to our flat. Frank has a busy work day and I have work I will help him with, so we are inside the rest of the day. I know I am missed at home. I cannot be in two places at once, of course, and I will be home soon enough. Here, in Paris, the garbage trucks come by at night and there is a wild clanging in the street below. One thing I look forward to in particular: birdsong outside my windows. And Charlie’s territorial bark. And the laughter of Wave, the special one, and him saying my name, as I say his now, and again and again. His name is Wave. And this is how we wants to be called. And we all have the right to be called by the name we know ourselves by.
