Louis XIII on a horse. Smokey sky above salmon and ochre bricks.
We circumambulate the Place des Vosges, find a wooden bench to pause
and drink it in: a cloud of swallows wheels above summer-lush lindens,
fountain plash, a bee above our heads, a feather falling between us.
Yesterday, one of those days when nothing goes right.
Today: sweet talk and galettes at Crêperie Suzette, and now this perfect moment.
Walking home, we see the dark falling above the carrousel and zinc roofs
at St. Paul. At 9 pm? Already? Fall is on its way.