For Paris, because I love you....

Our history on this planet is one of very wonderful things happening and very terrible things happening.  

As a sociologist, I can give you a hundred good reasons for the last few days.  A psychologist could give you a hundred others.  As could a priest, a counter-terrorist expert, a militant.  All would be right and all would be wrong because they would be trying to quantify, clarify, something that seems to  be so absolutely un-quantifiable.  

And so I think I will leave the sifting through the horror to others, the planning for the future, the trying to figure out why things are they way they are and how we might make them the way we want them to be.

What I know is that love is all there is.  

And when I think of Paris, I think of love - love baked into croissants and macarons, loved poured into fine wine, love painted into amazing art, love carved into beautiful churches and buildings, love in the joy of living, love locked onto bridges.

And so I send my love to Paris tonight.  

But not just to the nooks and crannies I have discovered thus far.

I send my love to every part of it, a soaring love, a creeping love, a grieving love, a weepy love.

One that is directed at all of Paris, but especially to those who are in pain, those who are in sadness, those who are angry, those who are disaffected, those who feel hopeless. 

For what else is there to do if you love Paris?

Hope' is the thing with feathers

'Hope' is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Emily Dickinson

Paris, je t'adore...

xoxo wendy