With the start of summer come long LONG nights, the heat and the storms, summer dresses and ice-cream, mangoes, and strawbs. But before we move into this new season let us remember les fleurs de printemps.
Blossoms are a special favourite and a delightful representation of spring. A short stroll up the Rue from me is the Eglise de Saint Vincent de Paul. One of the preferred spots for juvenile delinquency and much frequented by the gendarme, yet their various activities are made all that much softer by the cherry blossoms that frame them.
(One charming factor about l’eglise, are the bells. Chiming on the hour and reminding you of its existence every 15 minutes you can just see the tips of the two bell towers from my balcony. Frankly I find the constant ding-danging comforting.)
The magic of blossoms is the short window of opportunity to see them in all their splendour; the ever-increasing excitement as you see the buds swell and threaten to burst. Then in a blink of an eye, large patches across the city are dominated by pink and white.
Full bunches of petals tightly wound together clinging onto their branches lest a late breeze comes trembling through and sweeps them off to another fate.