Ho has seen the wind?*

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you:

But when the leaves hang trembling

The wind is passing thro'

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads

The wind is passing by.

*The error in the title ("Ho" instead of "Who") refers to an oft repeated family joke, recounting the story of the crusty librarian who INSISTED to my father, when he came into my elementary school to volunteer, that it was HO has seen the wind, definitely NOT Who.

In any event, I have not seen the wind.  But I heard it, howling and lashing at my window so violently last night that I decided to close my shudders--which I almost never do because it blocks out the morning light.  That is, when is there is any morning light.  I've been stewing in a melange of annoyance at the French for doing everything the French way, ennui with regard to my homework, sickness (caught an obnoxious cold), and probably a bit of Seasonal Affective Disorder (this was suggested to me by the ever-wise Mutti (translation: Kate O'Neill), who remarked that Paris gloom is a stark departure from the California sun I've become accustomed to).

But this morning, there was morning light!  Glorious, copious, buttery waves of it, flooding eagerly in through my window.  In fact, I'm currently sporting my giant 60's-style shades, which haven't seen the light of day (haha) for a few months.  That roiling windstorm last night blew something into the city.  The air is dry and fresh; as I went out to the boulangerie this morning, I almost felt as though I were in the Cascades, breathing the sweet evergreen air, reading to shoot down a ski-slope.  Then some taxi driver screamed, "PUTAIN!! DEPÊCHE-TOI!!" and I remembered I was still in Paris.  But not without fondness.  My fever is gone, the golden leaves (the ones that must have hung on for dear life last night) are twinkling like Christmas lights, and I'm starting to grow very fond of this city and its people again.  As if it were a boyfriend with whom I'd just had a fight, I'm begrudgingly, but not without great relief, warming to Paris, becoming affectionate, seeing its qualities again.  I just can't quit you, Paris.

So, for lack of adequate poetry-writing skills, here's a list of some little magnificent things:

1. I went to the supermarket the other day looking for cough-drops, which I couldn't find anywhere.  I asked some of the employees, who informed me I had to go to the pharmacy which, it being Sunday morning, were almost all closed.  I was about to roll my eyes at the inanity of all the French rules when one of the employees said, "But you should really try milk and honey."  And the other chimed in, "Yes, warm milk and honey, it really does the trick."  Awww.  How sweet.

2. My windows were a little steamed up this morning.  I'm not sure why this makes me happy; perhaps the reason is that it's such a seasonal pleasure, highlighting the delicious contrast between chill winter air and my warm little room.

3. I was walking home late the other night with some friends when we noticed a truck and some construction workers.  Then we realized they were stringing Christmas lights!  It was like a holiday brigade (anyone who knows me knows how excited I get by holiday lights...VERY excited)

4. Clementines.  Just their happy little shape, their sweet taste, and the lovely smell they leave on your fingertips.

5. Jours feriés, i.e. days off.  Such as today, Armistice Day!

Alright, well that's all I got for now.  Just thought you might like to know that my spirits are high, and I have not seen the wind.

Biz,

Alice