It's raining outside. A light, romantic drizzle--the kind that makes a tinkling sound on the roof, that makes the light from streetlamp (the one I can see from my wrought-iron balcony, hazy beyond a sheer curtain in that perfect shade of French blue) look moody and picture-perfect. Down the street is a tempting array of choices--patiserries, a fromagerie, a number of bistros in that iconic red. Perhaps the oyster bar will tempt me to visit for a late night snack. But right now I am full. La vie en rose, Edith Piaf sang, and while she did not mean rose wine, I am taking it as license to enjoy as many glasses as possible. I think my favorite one of the day was shared with my cousin (Francine, your French is marvelous) in an incredibly comfortable, low-slung chair that gave us a beautiful view of the Seine.
"...and life will always be la vie en rose." In Paris, I could almost believe it to be possible.