Dreamscape

A group people standing there had to be at a certain destination by 12 o’clock. If we were going in the same direction, they could give me a ride part of the way. Possibly, I had to be somewhere by 12 o’clock too. I jolt awake to look at the clock. It’s 11:01 a.m. I lie stunned at the reality of the time, the heat, and the pending appointment. Must shower, must feed Daisy. She languorously glides against my legs as she herself is awakening from sleep. At 11:35 a.m. I limp down the five flights of stairs to the front door to the street. As I step through, I recognize the small circular discolorations on the steps and sidewalk pavement. I race through the tiny rain drops until I reach the bus shelter, missing most of them except for one or two slamming against my face and blouse. Who needs an umbrella? Then, bigger drops with more wetting power begin to fall. Good timing though; there is a bus coming.

This summer in New York has been a trial of will for me. During the short bus trip, wiper blades scraping the bus’s window, I remember a day from last summer. Weather-wise, it was a similar day: an overcast gloomy sky threatening rain showers. After breakfast at a café, I was going to shop for food stuffs to stock the refrigerator. Upon leaving the café, there was the sound of music nearby that was attracting people.

I am near Rue Mouffetard, 5th arrondissement, Paris. A Sunday Bal is in progress. Curiosity turns to pleasure as I step through the crowd with my camera, watching the Parisians and other tourist enjoying themselves. A Bal is a traditional get-together of musicians and singers who perform for neighborhood residents. The attendant citizens can pick up song sheets to sing along or join in the spontaneous dancing. It was quite unexpected and added immensely to my visit last summer.

Musicians

<Singer

Accordion Player>

Dancers