Yesterday was the grayest day I think I've ever experienced. Not of my mood, but of the weather. The city of Paris was blanketed by soupy cloud cover that drained the color from the stones of this city, and stole it from my sight. Added to this indignity, my clouds partnered with a cold that bit through my body's warmth and sank into my bones like a dog curling up before a fire -- determined not to be moved by anything I might do.
That is why I was especially grateful for the warm baguette I bought late in the afternoon in the rue de Rennes. Right there on the street, I held it in both my bare hands like a cassocked monk praying. Such are the pleasures in life, something I think the French know very well.