opentone:

Douarnenez 2004 (by thipic)
Douarnenez, Brittany, France

opentone:

Douarnenez 2004 (by thipic)

Douarnenez, Brittany, France

At a Breton Window
My small daughter and I looked up from the waterfront of Douarnenez, in Brittany, to see an old woman smiling down at us from an open window. She had a shawl around her shoulders, her face was infinitely wrinkled, and her smile was so kind that it seemed to be reaching us from different times altogether—from before the Fall, perhaps. ‘I want that lady,’ my small daughter said.

At a Breton Window

My small daughter and I looked up from the waterfront of Douarnenez, in Brittany, to see an old woman smiling down at us from an open window. She had a shawl around her shoulders, her face was infinitely wrinkled, and her smile was so kind that it seemed to be reaching us from different times altogether—from before the Fall, perhaps. ‘I want that lady,’ my small daughter said.

A lesson
I helped a blind lady over a street crossing near the Gare de Lyon. She looked particularly irritable, cross and demanding, but though born and bred in the 12th arrondissement, turned out to be diffidently gentle. It was a lesson to me not to misjudge the hard-mouthed, sharp-eyed, fast-shoving, middle-aged Parisian housewife. I took the lady first to the post office, then to the pharmacy, and when I left her she said: “Now I give you back your liberty.”  

A lesson

I helped a blind lady over a street crossing near the Gare de Lyon. She looked particularly irritable, cross and demanding, but though born and bred in the 12th arrondissement, turned out to be diffidently gentle. It was a lesson to me not to misjudge the hard-mouthed, sharp-eyed, fast-shoving, middle-aged Parisian housewife. I took the lady first to the post office, then to the pharmacy, and when I left her she said: “Now I give you back your liberty.”
 

Magic in Paris
Wandering into Notre Dame on a Sunday night, I found a choir and orchestra celestially performing Bach’s Christmas Oratorio. The cathedral was full, a reverent multitude of young people sitting on the floor if they could not get a seat in the nave, or simply milling about like me. It was magical. All Paris seemed to be there, singing its heart out or half lost in the marvel of it.

Magic in Paris

Wandering into Notre Dame on a Sunday night, I found a choir and orchestra celestially performing Bach’s Christmas Oratorio. The cathedral was full, a reverent multitude of young people sitting on the floor if they could not get a seat in the nave, or simply milling about like me. It was magical. All Paris seemed to be there, singing its heart out or half lost in the marvel of it.