Bonjour.

The wind is cold and a little bit sharp, nipping at your skin as the clouds tumble in the sky. Everything, for the moment, is grey and pale in the morning, but the light is coming. If you pause and look down the Seine you can see rosy pink melting in the clouds, straight beams of translucent sun honest behind the gloom.
A morning in Paris.

Settled on a stone bench in front of Notre Dame Cathedral, people pass by; black tights, heels and long raincoats with scarves actually quite typical. Red lips, too; unexpected. The statue of Charlemagne is impressive and wreathed with pigeons, but your eyes are drawn instead to the man in the dull brown jacket. He has a dozens of the birds flocking to eat from his hand. The bells in the Cathedral ring.
We are really in Paris.