#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

"Love is like a tree, it grows of its own accord, it puts down deep roots into our whole being."

― Victor Hugo

Just now, the late evening, almost 11:00, getting dark. Windows wide open. Traffic of motorcycles four floors down. Clinking of plates and glasses from cafes on the street. Voices, cheerful, eating and drinking. Smells of cooking. A light breeze, a very warm night. Frank left early for Roland Garros. I went for a walk to Rue Cler, for coffee and a croissant before returning to work. At the cafe, I was early. Only one other table occupied, two men who had already breakfasted. The waiter came right over and took my order. In a moment or two, one of the men at the table nearby starting shouting, in French, at the waiter. The only word I could really understand clearly was “un raciste.” The two men were Black, the waiter white. He was very upset and stayed on this for five minutes. His tablemate said nothing. He stood up and said they wanted to pay and leave, but he didn’t stop repeating, over and over, that the waiter was racist. The waiter didn’t raise his voice. I couldn’t hear him respond. The man kept loudly asserting the racism. I didn’t know what to make of it. Did something happen out of my sight? Did something happen before I arrived? It wasn’t until I was walking back to the apartment later that I thought, well, this happened when I arrived. It very well was about me and my arrival. Perhaps the way the waiter had served me promptly? Not sure. But I realized, it was obvious, that I was involved in some way with this encounter, just by showing up and by having been treated in some way by the waiter that the men had not experienced. Then, at the apartment, I had a few hours of productive writing time, sending my weekly prompt and drafting a short essay. It was hot outside the open windows, and I went for my walk in the late afternoon. Just went to the street and walked and went where my feet took me. To the Latin quarter. Streets and cafes quite busy with Sunday families and activities. I got quite thirsty and hot. Chose, in exhaustion, an empty seat at a cafe and had water and coffee and got my legs and energy back.Frank met me for dinner on Rue Cler after tennis. I am listening to another book: Stephanie Foo’s memoir, What My Bones Know–A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma. Lately I am devouring book after book on audible. All good ones, including this. Audible is having a sale and I bought three more books tonight! In a little garden I stood under the magnificence of this green leafed beauty, this gorgeous energy of light and green and hope.