“The artist is the confidant of nature, flowers carry on dialogues with him through the graceful bending of their stems and the harmoniously tinted nuances of their blossoms. Every flower has a cordial word which nature directs towards him.”
― Auguste Rodin

Frank is gone when I wake. It’s 8:00, a sunny day, I can see from outside the huge windows. Coffee! I go down the three flights to the busy street. Parents professionally dressed for work push children in strollers or walk behind scooters as they take their children to school. The cafe where I get my latte is filled with parents and children at breakfast. Soon enough I am back upstairs to have my coffee at my computer. The flat is quiet, the sun is bold. I get a bit of work done while it is 6 hours behind back home. When Frank returns home in the later morning I suggest we go to the airport to get our bags, as there seems to be no effort about them otherwise. But they have already been sent out to the courier, and we must wait. Good. Neither one of us wants to spend the good morning on this! Instead, we meet up with our American friends and go to the sculpture garden of the Rodin Museum––a place we have visited a few times before. The roses are in bloom, the sun is hot, the gardens are lovely. We have lunch at the museum cafe and exchange stories of our journey with friends. Then, stroll the garden. I take this picture of the most perfect rose of them all. When we go indoors I find this painting which I like the best, because it is a dreamy forest with a body of water that reminds me, of course, of a woodland place where I would enjoy walking. We have a relaxed afternoon, and just as I am closing my eyes for a catnap I get a call from the concierge. Bags! Bags below! Groggy and happy I run down the three flights. And there, on the street being delivered to us are two of our four bags. Hmmm. But which of us are the lucky ones? As it turns out, our bags have reached my daughter and me. Lucky us! Where are the others? Who knows? My daughter and I cheerfully change our clothes for dinner. She has picked out a restaurant well away from the tourists with a 9 p.m. reservation. It’s just getting dark as we return via the Metro from our superb dinner outdoors in the cooling evening. We cross the river, right bank to left, and make our way happily home.

https://www.musee-rodin.fr/en/museum/musee-rodin/sculpture-garden