involved in a love affair with a rampant spring.
A crowded modern metro trip took me to Basilique St Denis
where pilgrims of centuries gone by gathered in the north
for the traverse of the city-
architecture spanning time
early crypt remnants
tombs of Kings Queens princesses.
Near Notre Dame, St Jacques tower stood against the sky in the spring sunshine.
I stood there thinking of all those who had walked before me on this route.
I was a tourist
but as I took the Rue St Jacques, climbing beyond the Sorbonne
it was as if I was already moving into a different world
where centuries merged.
In the church at Haut Pas
I greeted St Jacques
and it was as if I had turned my gaze backwards
with the throng of past pilgrims
to farewell the city.
Paddy, who is my husband - Paddy, Patrick, is my husband. He would hate it if he knew I was writing about him. He´s English, a retired newspaperman, a thinker, a wag, a working-class ...
2 weeks ago