Monday, February 16, 2009


There was a snow in Paris last week. 
Walking down rue Steinerque  on my way to Chez Ed, I saw a white speck falling from above. 
"Must be a pigeon feather." I thought. 
Then, again, it was a bit too white to be pigeon and, believe me, there are no swans in Montmartre.
A few more floated down (or a few more down floated)
Having obtained my groceries, and hoping I had chosen the right flavor for my cats, I headed up to my house, now realizing it was snow.
Within seconds the flakes turned to confetti.
The glib marché Saint Pierre shopkeepers came out amazed  all looking up and smiling.
A young American tourist said, "It's snowing in Paris."
A monumental statement.
For a second, I thought about the opening scene from Fellini's Amacord with milkweed filling the air and everyone yelling "Primavera, Primavera."
Then,  I thought about the Democratic Convention.
It was an event.
I grew up in Connecticut. I know about snow.  These flakes were the biggest and most beautiful
I had ever seen.
I passed by the crepe maker at Café Kakoo who was also gawking.
Everyone except Peter Pigeon, who took advantage of the event. He swept down and stole the topping off the crepe.
Seconds later, it was over. The snow. The crepe. But not for Peter.
Happy he had outwitted all of us.


  1. I've seen some lovely photos on blogs of this Paris snow. You've had a cold, wet winter, eh? I'm thinking warm, spring thoughts for you!



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