Biting cold. Wet cobblestone. Ice-blue sky promising inevitable snow.
By the time I got to Place des Vosges it was all but empty and I was surprised to find the gates still open. A final parade of scarfed and mittened park goers, displaced by the choked-off afternoon of winter, spread out from center toward the inviting glow of softly lit cafés and warm boutiques. All colors inside the square — the hidden corner purples, the street lamp yellows, the oranges of third story windows — were tinted somehow with a greenish hue as if the entire scene had been dunked a few inches underwater.
Chilled fingers fought to steady the camera for one last shot — then another — then ok maybe just one more — until the snow arrived, determined to have the last word and laying the final brush stroke on a December evening as it quietly slipped into memory.