These days it seems easier to speak through images than to produce words.
Sunday: baguettes from the nearby bakery, lots of coffee and chevre, making a little list of where I want to go and what I want to do next week. Very practical. Settling in Belleville, exploring unknown neighbourhoods, finding books to read in french – maybe Duras, perhaps Camus. Wishing for the sun to come out from behind leaden clouds. I am quite calm here in France, a different mood from that which I have been prone to at home – made happy by the simple non-existance of chores, making acquaintances and discovering cafés; watching haussmann buildings pushing against the sky in tiny blocks, rows of three or four. Awakening to the songs of birds, of rain.