Not only could I make a long list of these stinky city smells (dust, ciggie smoke, cars, buses, mopeds...just to name a few), but I could include a detailed memory of each coughing encounter.
And this is why I love Spring in Paris.
It has a remarkable way of ripening a memory in the middle of the dust and dirt - of her with that blue polka-dot tank top and those starch white shorts, snipping the roses from the side of our house to set on our kitchen table.
All with the shocking waft of one flower, hung low and full on its branch. As you pass by on your way to catch the bus.
i love this post. im in the midst of a memory season too (see my friday poem) -- i think it has something to do with spring. even more than new year's day, spring feels like the beginning of a new year.
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