Waxing Eloquent: Paris

The rain falls gently in a comforting melody. The cool air blows, cleansed by the rain, it smells of damp leaves, crisp grass and granite stone.

Traffic darts in and out. The putter of motors march like drummers in the street, each competing to set the tempo.

The light from the windows overflow onto the side walk, dancing along with the passers by.

The yellow street lights lead on, marking the way through the hedge rows of classical architecture.

The path is long and far. I walk along, as if walking a poam. The tall statues recall galiant men and their victories. Sculptures stand, showing the way with their perfect forms, galleries tell of beauty and pain.

… And so I walk, an extra in the circus of the city. Sight and sound melding togeather, smell and air, all becoming one.


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