What a swirl these last few weeks have been! After nine days in Paris I returned home to my dear family just in time for vegetarian gluten free Thanksgiving preparations. There was an evening at a David Sedaris reading that predictably had us aching with laughter. There was a drive along the coast and up into the canyon where the trees are still embracing their yellow with all of their might. Along the way a white convertible with a trio of dalmatian passengers grabbed our attention and affection. There's been catching up on glowing seaside sunsets and chocolate mousse prepared in the midnight hours by a thoughtful husband. My nose is often in a book, Rave's face and paws on my lap while I catch my breath and find my daily routine again.
Along our street some front doors are still flanked by uncarved pumpkins, others adorned with Christmas wreaths. An abandoned "lemonade: 25 cents" sign from the neighbor kids' sale last Saturday (when the temperature veered past 80 degrees) adds to the mix. Today the waves rumbled and the briny air filled my lungs with satisfaction.
Most mornings since my return I have awakened with images of Paris in my mind from a leftover dream. They are not experiences from this trip, yet they feel like they belong to me. They seem important somehow but by the time I open my eyes and reach for a pen they have faded and fled.