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It is a ritual for me…

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Essentials in hand, I decide to wander through the streets of St. Germain on my way back to my apartment.  I take advantage of the early hour, stopping here and there to snap photos in gallery windows unobserved by annoyed owners.  During business hours, this is a quick shoot-from-the-hip maneuver.

I have one more stop to make, so I keep my eye open for a suitable place.  Ah, there, on the corner.  A riot of color, shape and texture.  Staggered rows of bright flowers beckon.  It is a ritual for me, on my first morning in Paris, to buy flowers for my space.  It is always a difficult choice, deciding which to purchase.  I want them all.

I take my time, enjoying the beauty, snapping a few photos as well. Today I choose a hearty bunch of vermillion blooms I’ve never seen before.  I will have to look them up.  Or maybe just enjoy them.  Not everything needs a name.  I wonder, though if I have a color that will come close in my traveling art supplies (another reason I will never pack light).  If not, there is always Sennelier right around the corner.  I think about where I will upack my temporary studio and quicken my step, imagining placing everything just so and spending quiet time there, recharging.  I think I can move that little desk closer to the window…

As I near my apartment building, the thought of climbing those five flights of stairs dragging my jet lag up each step is daunting.  It is time for a much-need nap and a much-desired shower.  In that order.  My tools of art will have to stay packed a little longer.

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*While the Boutique here at The Armchair Parisian is very real indeed, the stories and characters are a product of imagination.  Please enjoy them in the adventurous spirit in which they were intended.


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