Spring is arriving in Paris. It is the first change of season I have witnessed since 1984. Thirty-five years is a long winter. For me, it has been a long summer. Like the buds on the trees I am waking to a new season of life. This glorious glimpse of spring, even if only a temporary tease, foretells the leaving behind of all that was and will never be again. Bitter sweet nostalgia tugs at my heart on this bright and promising day.
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