On Wondering and Wandering.

Marc Chagall Paris Though The Window
Marc Chagall
Paris Though The Window

 Paging through the pictures  and sepia postcards  is a pleasant activity once you are back from yet another trip. In all honesty, I do not travel as much in reality as I do in my imagination. Visiting tiny book stores where books are warm from the Sun as if they are just out of print, marvelling at colours which could be names of desserts: vermilion, titian, bisque, puce, smalt. You add associations to the chemical composition of the photographic developer and memories help to make your latent image visible, memories and a bit of light. It cannot happen without light!  Who would have thought bittersweet is a colour.  Flânerie is in full swing, you stroll up and down every street,  walk around every park,  from bench to bench, from page to page. Spring is uncontrollable, like unruly curls which are always in your eyes.  You are experiencing the city in a million different ways, sometimes  being unaware of it. Yes, it is idling but it is also the time when your mind absorbs, digests, organizes the changes brought by spring. Even if it happens every year, it seems we tend to forget how green, green can be, how deep navy-blue sky is, how warm the sun feels, how fresh the wind smells. We need time to observe and be reminded of these changes.  As the spring is taking its toll, flânerie flourishes and winter is somewhat reluctantly  setting the  birds free from its icy cages, the soft catkins curl up on the branches of trees and we walk, walk and walk on.

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