I See Clouds of White

by spaghettipirate

Spring time has come swooping into Paris and just like that it has exhaled a breath of fresh air into our brittle dehydrated lungs, putting a spring in my step as my bones feel like clicking heels and dancing with my hands up laughing wide-mouthed celebrating that yes; I am alive, in one of the most beautiful cities, and that my eyes finally can shake off the sleepiness of the winter.

Motivation to go running, to go for a walk, rollerblading, sitting beneath the Eiffel Tower having an impromptu picnic. With no destination in mind and the total freedom of time, whittling away the hours of the day as the sun peeks out from thin stretches of clouds, and eyes as clear as the skies.

There is hope, adventure, and longing; the time to strap on the pair of skates and just go – anywhere – is as compelling as it is irresistible.

The 20 degree change in weather is amazing. Honestly it brings out the best in people.

Old couples sit perched contentedly lacing fingers and watching their grandchildren rock back and forth on the spring toy horse and lancing a toy story ball upwards into the sun. The morning dew clings to the budding leaves that spring forth from the trees and it’s a whole new life.

Biting into an apple is one of the most crisp satisfying sounds, and munch thoughtfully on a slice, simply enjoying the Parisian air and the people around you.

My heart starts beating again – racing – as the airplanes fly over head leaving a thin white trail in their wake and in every limb there is jittery excitement as vendors peddle their books along the Seine and artists dot the landscape trying to catch the way the light and shadows play with one another and to somehow pin down the one romantic moment that caught their eye that day.

People sit in cafe’s languidly stretched out in their seats taking an hour and a half for a coffee and as the cigarette hangs limply from their fingers, the page of the book is turned and a new chapter is ushered in.

I am scuffing my shoes against the Parisian pavement, window shopping and wishing that the clinking in my pocket jeans was enough to buy a pastry from one of the boulangeries that has led me straight to their window.

I am feeling the sun on my skin for the first time in months – and really feeling it – feeling as it warms up my mind and body and soul as a content smile works its way across my face.

Trees are starting to come to fruition and kids are shedding their heavy winter coats in favor for sweatshirts and ankles that peek out from beneath their skinny legged pants.

Inhale the city, breathe it deep into your lungs and squint against the sunlight as the days are getting longer and who needs a watch?

Wander into shops and listen to the man croon over his guitar asking for a euro or two. Talk to people on the metro randomly because you can and ask them for their numbers so we all go out on a Friday night and Saturday afternoon, freedom at its most.

I’ll walk until I am familiar and intimate with this city – and all its metro routes – that I now call home, and come home at night drunk on life and on the city of lights.

Days start to bleed into one another, yet with nowhere to be and nowhere to go there is time to enjoy it at its fullest and there is no looking back as we go hurtling down the Parisian streets on roller blades. The learning curve is steep but what is this if not living, and we get scraped and fall a little along the way but the memories now are the ones that will be burned forever behind my eyelids when I am drifting off to sleep.

Simply hearing  the birds cheep outside my window in the morning as they scrap for crumbs serves as a pleasant and happy reminder that spring is here to stay, and I for one, could not be any happier for it.

Indeed there is no better time to be in a city such as Paris, in the spring.