twin graces

they dance in place to the undulating rhythm of the street, to the shadow-dappled flow of the canal...

holding up each a perforated star-flower, sliding into hiding for the day and reappearing again when the metallic darkness falls...

[Quai de Jemmapes, near the Hotel du Nord]

fire sale

always a tragic sight, the charred remnants of a fire... these neatly bagged and bundled piles of debris were left for removal on a narrow sidewalk in the Marais - the sad remains of an interior life now reduced to shades of black and sooty ashes...

si belle

along the cool and shady arcades of the Place des Vosges, and amongst the newer boutiques and older restaurants, there are pockets still of neglect - desert islands of avoidance - where the homeless curl up for the night and leave their meagre belongings in the day...
I stop before a door struggling to stay relevant, even as it has fallen into disuse years ago, but now reclaimed as a "belle-ile", above which the word is almost exuberant in its curved pink lettering...