Recently I was griping about the rain in Paris. Being from Seattle, I get my fill of rain. The blanket of grey that all too often rolls out over the Parisian sky in winter feels far too familiar. And it’s April now—it’s spring, right?
Why didn’t we decide to spend a year in Barcelona? I ask myself again. Or Italy?
So, in fairness, I better give thanks for the sunlight we’ve had recently, even if we’ve had some spring rains as well. But overall the temperatures are warming up, the days are getting longer and we’re seeing blue skies more and more. Which all means writing not only in cafés, but in parks, like this lovely one in our neighborhood:
After an hour there yesterday, I stopped by another park, this time in the center of town. As I typed away on my bench, I heard voices nearby and turned to see the police patting down a young guy at the next bench. They were calm, but intent. I kept typing. When I looked over again, they were still patting him down and it looked like they were questioning him about his belongings. I tried not to stare, but noticed others were paying attention as well. I kept typing. Further discussion followed between the police and the young guy that I couldn’t hear, and likely wouldn’t have been able to understand very well anyway. At last the police bid him “bonne journée” and went on their way.
Later, a friend mentioned I should try to work the incident into my book; coincidentally, I was working on a scene at the time in which one of my characters finds another one passed out in a park. No police or pat downs, but close enough.
I typed for a while longer, the guy eventually went on his way, and I went on mine. I decided to take the bus home; it follows a more direct route than the métro, but even so can take longer, especially in traffic. But—there’s more sun.