Then, after a particularly spirit-breaking day, I dreamed of Paris. We were there in the sunshine, my husband and I, riding lightweight bicycles that made us feel as though we were flying. We sped from the Arc de Triumph to the Pantheon on what felt like gossamer wings. Then I awoke to a dark January morning.
When we gathered in our snuggery that night, I told my husband about the dream. "Let's do it," he said. "Let's just go to Paris again. It's easier. We know how to do it. We can stay on the Left Bank again."
And so we began dreaming again. And hoping. And feeling lighter.
There are still many unanswered questions in my life.
But I can dream of Paris. What a hold she has on us!
Life forces us into decisions and roles we sometimes abhor. Falling in love with a city gives us options. There is nothing to do but submit yourself to the lure of the city. Paris...