the sky…

There is something uniquely spectacular about the Parisian sky. It can hold my gaze for hours with its dynamic ever-changing composition. This sky is magnificently temperamental, and when not caught under it’s sudden rain, I am in utter admiration of its kaleidoscopic palette. I wonder if the locals share my awe for the space above. Do they walk around gazing skywards, stopping to smile at the passing clouds revealing indescribable hues of blues and pinks? Do they notice the perfect light as the sun sets to welcome the night? (I believe that is the time for an aperitif in this culture). No, the French are too composed for such behavior, it is their sky after all and they expect it to be extraordinary. Perhaps after so many years of searching for slivers of sky amidst imposing skyscrapers I find even greater pleasure in the light of day.

foreign flavors

The beginning of my Parisian life has proven a proper foreign adventure. The first few weeks have tasted of many flavors other than French, the sweet and savored tastes of family. We traveled to the South of Poland where my roots are firmly planted. Deep in the woods of Bykowce, the place of my youth and still now, my place.

A brief return to Paris and away we flew to taste of Northern Italy. More family and feasting, the setting of this dream in Monterosso on the Mediterranean, his place. The experiences defining dreams and reality are becoming more vague, and I willfully allow myself to be taken. The adventures seem endless as our respective cultures meet and mingle, creating an even more resplendent reality.

voices from afar

Each morning I wake with a smile, eager to explore and engage in this new and privileged life. I feel very much at home, even more so as I can now navigate my way through the tangle of streets, aware of the treasures which lie behind the surrounding corners, in the form of bistros and boutiques, bookstores and boulangeries.

Several friends have joined me in this adventure, appearing for merely a moment, yet providing a lasting comfort that comes only with those we call our long-time confidants. It is my people I miss the most, a select few I have collected through the years, whose faces will always elicit in me the most genuine of smiles. In all of my many travels, and especially now having found a new home in a distant land, I understand well that a city speaks to ones soul through the voices of ones life. The most relevant one being our own. (And of course that of our mother). Forever will my esteemed voices be heard from afar. My current and most favored voice is deep and melodic with the most charming Italian accent.