This is the view from the cafe side where I sit and write at Le Petit Pont.
I am so excited (regardless of whatever the winter weather decides to do) to sit,
people watch, sip something warm, nibble cold popcorn and write from my favorite place
in the oldest section of Paris!
I shall walk along the Seine, under the bridges and wonder
about what happened in the same cobblestone locations, in the very same dark places, under similar bridges, centuries ago.
I keep hoping that story ideas will transfer themselves from the minds of those who walked here before; that thoughts hang in the air; that memories can be caught with just the right
twist of intent.
Is it possible that the breath of those very same thoughts
that once walked beneath these bridges still lingers
through centuries of rain and windstorms,
hail and snow, just waiting for
the one who wants them?
I'll let you know...