Sunday, 29 August 2010
The air is playful today. The sun is playing peekaboo with the clouds and the mist on the horizon threatens rain, but the air is joyful, childish. It tastes of the coming Spring, the sprigs of star jasmine creeping over the back fence perfuming the air with pink. I am bubbled. My blood skittish today as the warmth of the suddenly penetrating sun heats my skin improbably.
I had lunch with a group of friends today in an Italian restaurant under the Eiffel Tower with woeful service and tasty food; the Possum bouncing around at my feet charming all before him until I dared hold another infant. He was right to cry, holding a newborn in my arms immediately made my chest and throat ache, with the knowledge that I cannot ever do that again and wanting with that sweet milkiness to do precisely that.
It has been a lovely weekend - marked by it's loveliness in subtle and not so subtle ways.
Friday night on the way to pick up my fellow shoe fetishist (FSF) I nearly drove off the road, entranced as I was by the heavy orange moon sitting perfectly above the city scape. It was so perfect that I actually got tears in my eyes and wanted desperately to share it with someone who would understand it, feeling a connection with the sky that was unnerving.
The ever glamorous Ms FSF was just arriving as I pulled into the swell of airport traffic and we chatted for the next 3 days. One of those delightful friends who instantly makes you feel at ease and that there is no fear of small talk or strange silences even if it has been months since you had a proper conversation.
Saturday was all about the sort of girlish lovely things that I so rarely get to indulge these days. We went to the Art Gallery and swooned over organza and chiffon and the perfection of a swathe of red dresses designed for female curves. It was truly breathtaking looking at some of the timeless gowns (some impossible to discern the era in which they'd been created) that were designed to celebrate femininity, that emphasised hips and bust while flattering at the same time. Beautiful colours and fabrics that swirled even on static mannequins giving life and movement and beauty to the clothes. The fulfilment of every little girl's dream of Cinderella's Fairy Godmother moment, of going to the ball in the dress.
We then went shopping and tried on $850 shoes of loveliness with red soles that made my soul happy and ridiculous feathery fascinators in jewelled colours that made me smile. So much so that when I put one headband with a stupidly large fuschia rose in my nearly black hair I loved it enough to purchase and walk around for the rest of the afternoon enjoying the slightly bemused expressions of passers by.
Heading home as the sun grew heavy in the warm sky we settled the ratbag children off to bed before a night of mojitos, daiquiris, cheese and the cheertastic Bring It On. I also discovered fig paste and the way that the sweet crunchiness matches so perfectly with blue cheese. Almost as magic as the match of crisp tart apple and triple cream brie.
Warm and slow and full I drifted off to sleep tasting sweetly of rum and passionfruit and strawberries to dreams of another place. Another dimension and the feel of breath against my ear so real that I was startled to wake and find Bingley curled away from me, expecting instead the warmth of the arms I'd felt so acutely mere seconds before.
Today was then the trip to little Italy in Paris and the laughter of friends and easy company without awkwardness; the deliciousness of new life and the perfection of tiny shell nails, barely there eyelashes and skin so soft that I'm almost afraid to touch for fear of spoiling.
I feel light and playful today, playing with the wind as she inhales the delicate perfume of jasmine and ruffles the vernix slicked hair of new life. Playing hide and seek with the sun as he peeks from behind the watch of the disapproving clouds. A playmate so warm and enveloping that I want to lay in his arms even as my skin dusks pink.
Eyes threatening to gild but only at the edges, a corona of light, suppressed for too long.
Edited to add for Lissa
I was wearing a paisley kaftan that comes to mid thigh with opaque stockings and patent black stilettos with my fascinator.