A picture speaks a thousand words, does it not? But hell, a few words here nor there won’t hurt.
Indeed, words, for people like you and I, reverse the desiccation of days spent writing reports for money.
So: here is Picture The First: the wedding in the Tuileries.
If you can tear yourself away from the Louvre and stroll down to the Place De La Concorde in Paris, you can bask in a very peculiar beauty. This is such well trodden territory: I doubt if there are many of you who have not been there. A wide sandy tree-lined avenue infused with romance.
This day, I was there with my daughter, escaping from the horror of Eurodisney. We had seen the Mona Lisa, gaped at the glass pyramid and bought sun hats because it was baking, dry heat. The street artists sketched and the street vendors sold, but lazily today.
And as we walked, it clouded over: a heat haze. And with complete serendipity, we happened upon a bride.
Sometimes we are granted a snapshot of someone else’s life, and here we were, taken aback by a gust of wind which lifted the ghostly veil and offered it to the air and the groom and the bridesmaid and any bystander.
I lifted the camera and captured the soul of a bride, so that here in this little cyberchamber, dimly lit with candles and thickly scented with jasmine, I could open the box and the wedding would play out for you, standing there in the Tuileries, as I did once.
I wonder if she is happy, this bride? How the dress and the gorgeous venue worked out for her, and who her friend was, and whether she and her husband are now four, not two, or even more, and indeed whether each of the small additions to the family is a prodigy or a pestilence?
It’s just a picture. A snapshot of a gust of wind claiming the foreground.