If he had only known
How the years would fly on by
Such a simple crime, he’s run out of time
So he reaches for the sky.
He sees the stars above
As the floor to heavens light
While the angels taunt, “C’est une nuit blanche”
He’s a Frenchman for the night.
I have a coffee table book at home. It is nothing but black and white photographs of Paris. I’ve glanced through that book for years wondering what it might be like when, or more likely if, I were to ever go.
I took these photographs today.
This one was taken from my room on the Rue Cler just a moment ago as I listened to a conversation in the cafe below understanding only bits and pieces.
View from my Room
This one was taken as, earlier today, killing time before my room was ready and working on no sleep for 28 hours, I rounded the corner nearby.
This one was taken as I walked along the Seine.
And this one . . . well . . .
The French have a phrase, “Nuit blanche.” It translates literally as “white night”, but the meaning is more along the lines of “all nighter.” It’s half past midnight in Paris and I may not sleep for reasons other than the disorientation that comes with jet lag.