Despite the sort of centering I took care to do early last week, a long work week, complete with a bout of the flu, left me ready to kick Paris in the shins by Friday night. But Paris made up for it this weekend.
The turning point was a trip to the market near my apartment on Saturday morning. It was raining. Stalls brimmed with pots of spices and flats of eggs, and bundles of thyme and rosemary lined the walk. Men murmured. I sampled clementines, inquired about zucchini, bought enough food to make up for all the flu had taken, every inch of me ravenous for color, warmth, life. Arms full, I asked for a bouquet of white raniculas, and turned to find that a stem of pink roses had been tucked inside as well (un cadeau!). And I headed home, smiling, ready to unpack my bags--haricots verts, thyme, a perfect purple aubergine--and spread the wealth around.