Today it felt like spring.
What that is exactly and how wonderful it feels...I can't really explain. But I do know that opening my shades to a shining sun is a bizarre and yet utterly pleasing abnormality. The winter is not cruel in Paris, but, much like its inhabitants, it is not exactly welcoming.
Perhaps after two Moroccan winters I have developed irregular seasonal expectations. Paris is not Siberia, after all. It dropped below freezing for only a couple of weeks.
After breakfast I headed to work. With a smile on my face and a skip in my step, I left the apartment courtyard into the great urban outdoors.
I immediately had to hunch my head into my jacket, for I had no scarf. I might have even shivered. And then I looked up at the misleading sky.
We're getting there, but we haven't arrived yet.
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