la lumière (the light)

i have always been very attuned to the light and the smell of a place. there is nothing, for example, quite like the crisp dampness of the air and sheer gleam of everything (from the tips of the cornsilk to the inky pavement to the wegman's sign) after a syracuse autumnal rain; or like the sweet, sweet air of an atlanta spring sugared by azalea bushes, iced tea, and orange sunsets; or like the midnight glow of halliburton tower blanketed in summer heat and the smell of sunburned grass.

in paris, my senses are all the more alive. it is, after all, the city where the art of seduction reigns. as i've noted before, when speaking of paris, one must purge from memory the dirty, anglicized connotations of this word. one must, instead, consider a piquing of all five (or six) senses as well as the brain. for example, last week when i bit into chef constant's palombe de saison, compotée de lentilles au foie gras, i smelled the rich, slightly fruity odor of the foie gras basted bird, then tasted its exquisite full flavor and felt the tiny strings of meat pop hot juice, all while listening to the hushed but vibrant conversations of a café shrouded in a reisling glow.

i know, i know. you think i'm getting carried away. and i haven't even gotten to the light in paris today! so without further wordy adieu...

not ten steps out the doorway on my jog and it started to rain. i had noticed the sky darkening, but thought maybe daylight savings had thrown off my sense of time. since it was une pluie légère (a gentle rain) and because i was really feeling the run, i decided to keep going. by the time i reached the pont du carrousel (the bridge practically in our backyard that runs straight into the louvre) the rain was not so légère, but the sky was a sight to behold: to my left was a slate ceiling of clouds that broke only in the far distance, probably past la défense, with a glowing slash of white. to my right, the louvre imposed its stoic but gilded facade on a deep purple-red mass of a sky whose invasion seemed as immenent as the revolutionary mobs on the bastille. the best, however, was yet to come.

au fond du (at the far end of the) jardin des tuileries, the path is raised such that you look down a bit toward place de la concorde. this view was truly one of the most beautifuly city scenes i have ever seen. it kills me that i don't have a picture to show you because words, even though i will try, cannot begin to describe this moment.

the rain slowed and the clouds dispersed just enough to allow the special incandescent glow of twilight to settle. this is my favorite time of day - especially when autumn mixes in the smell of wet leaves and re-lighted chimneys - but this twilight was particularly special. the light from the old-style streetlamps drew out the yellow in the leaves left scattered and sopping on the ground. headlights from the cars streaming through the place searched uncertainly for an object on which to rest. in the distance, the eiffel tower seemed a mirage, while in front of me the obelisk's golden cap shone uncannily bright. the whole scene was intensely modern and antique, garish and subtle.

i am so in love with this city.

que la lumière qui fait enflammer mon coeur vous trouve aussi.