LYON - Nuages



     I returned to Lyon a little less than two years later, staying for a few days with a lovely family on a beautiful old estate nestled into a hill on the west side of the two rivers.  The last days of winter, with grey stone & sky scarcely distinguishable from one another.  I retraced the steps of a favorite walk from the end of my time in France, north along the Saône to a quiet little area near Passerelle Saint-Vincent where rows of pastel buildings domino down from Fourvière to the riverbank below.  Before falling asleep that night in a room that overlooked the edges of Presqu'île, I tried to place the feeling somehow missing from a still very pleasant return.  Clouds filled balloon-like with stadium light rolled slowly by, projecting memory itself onto the walls & curtains.  The time in time & place – the clamor & the swelter of a summer unrepeatable, its present become past.



Elle aspire comme chaque matin l’odeur puissante et humide de la rue St-Jean dont les pavés glissent légèrement. Elle voudrait rentrer dans cette boulangerie et acheter un pain au lait. Mais quelque chose file devant elle qu’elle doit saisir, c’est le moment elle le sait – sinon – elle tend le bras – sa vie s’écoule – elle ne l’atteint pas.

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