i stole a rose petal from a grave

Walking Pere Lachaise in Paris, the grey skies held back the worst of the rain; the wind was just sharp enough to nudge free the gold leaves from the trees to litter the cobblestone pathways.

All Saints Day was spent in Paris amidst cemeteries and cathedrals; ornate gravestones and large stained glass windows.

I found it strangely comforting.

I should write…more. I should write of Tuscany’s large rolling hills filled with vineyards and small stone villages with winding passageways and prowling calico cats; of the canals of Amsterdam and Bruge, one lined with red lit windows, the other with chocolate shops.

But tonight, my mind remains with stone angels.