in The quiet discontent - joy

Paris in the Spring….after a gloomy winter on both sides of the Atlantic, it’s a literal breath of fresh air to see the nascent buds on the bushes, trees waiting to flower, the warmer air reaching deeper into the hushed twilight that begins to extend into the evening as you sit at an outdoor sidewalk cafe, putting the happy in “Happy Hour'“.

The rain has a different smell to it. The promise of Spring in the bouquet that is Paris.

Imagine Spring in an eternal Rome with it’s ancient winding streets, the smell of garlic in the air, a “pizzette” in the making, a fountain around the corner, your pockets jingling with foreign coins at the ready to toss, with dreams ready to come true.

I see England in Spring with glorious meadows alight with budding wildflowers, their purple and yellow streaks a blur as you drive down a country road towards a warm and cozy pub, with equally warm locals, at the end of your day. Have you had enough of this winter of our discontent? Me too, friends, me too. Joy is eminently waiting for us.