We are living in a winter wonderland. Paris in the snow! I’ve seen very little of it but I did go in to the city for writers’ group yesterday evening. The group met, not at Shakespeare and Co (who are stocktaking – no one is jealous) but at an apartment near Bastille. I tried and failed to get a photo of the monument in the snow – but you’re not missing much. It was all rather bleak.
Instead, here’s our pretty street:
Walking home along Rue de l’Eglise.
And that’s the Eglise (church) behind my lovely husband and miserable son.
Louis is not fond of the snow but he is fond of kicking a ball and won’t walk in the stuff unless induced in such a way.
We have a friend from New Zealand staying with us and the kids are loving getting to know her. I suspect she’s enjoying renewing the acquaintance with our cuties as well.
Jenny went with Luuk and Louis to buy pastries for breakfast.
We went down to the market this morning, braving the snow, but the market itself was undercover and amongst the vegetables and cheeses there were other wares. Jenny resisted this marvel of a hat, but we were tempted.
Picture perfect snow flakes. (Shame about the picture quality.)
On the subject of snow, yesterday’s small stone:
curb, branch and eave
underline that – just in case you missed it –
How many times watched, how many hearts captured, by this pair and their reluctant, inevitable affection? How many hours absorbed by this film, by the book on which it’s based? How perfect the weather for (another) five hours sedentary pleasure. “… how ardently I admire and love…”
That’s right, we are watching a rather familiar BBC miniseries this fine snow-blanketed day. Wickham is spreading his terrible lies and I’m nursing cup of coffee while Luuk gets the market cheeses and some fresh baguette ready for afternoon tea. Lazy sunday, ’tis.