Paris: Something New

You never quite forget the first sight of a new city.

It was a cloudy day, and the plane had been folded in a blanket of clouds both above and below. We could feel the plane descending, but saw no evidence of this through the grey windows.

Then, in the predawn light, a threat of light through the darkness beneath us. The thread brightens through the thinning clouds, and all of the sudden the clouds part, and a web of fire scores the earth. We see the grey relinquish the city as if a pair of hands parting to reveal its sheltered treasure, or as a flower's petals unfold to reveal its honeyed center. The city burns beneath us, brighter than the eastern glow that had chased us halfway around the earth. Each thread, joining with each other, converge towards the center of the city, and along each thread, hang a string of golden pearls.

Ah! Paris. No wonder so many fall in love with your fair visage.