A free woman in Paris

This morning I heard from a journalist friend who lives across the Atlantic ocean. He's really a smart guy.

But he's not just intelligent as in thoughtful and well-versed in a lot of fascinating topics.

A while back my friend married a Frenchwoman he met while serving in a foreign news bureau. Now he and she live in Paris with their family.

I have a cousin who used to live in Paris. And I still imagine it (having not seen it for decades) as one of the most romantic cities in the world.

A city in which one can tumble out of bed (of course, one does not sleep alone in Paris) and walk down the street to sit as a sidewalk cafe for breakfast at noon.

A city in which one can walk for miles along the Seine and catch glimpses of the Paris of 400 years ago.

A city in which a debate about poetry can be taken as seriously, if not more so, than one about politics.

One in which people care about style, but aren't obvious about it.

I want to be in Paris. I can't get there right now.

Yet the city of La Belle Epoque, of croissants and Proust and stolen kisses waits on the horizon, tantalizing and gorgeous.

I trust that Paris will be there when I can.

Wanna come?