It’s snowing, in swirls of flakes, over and around my balcony, on the road where the cars whiz by, still, undaunted by the slipperiness.
It’s hard to make snow appealing, but the light streaming in my window, through the light white curtains is whiter than usual, and I feel as light as the snow, even with all my bureaucratic hair pulling phone calls behind me and ahead of me still, I feel the snow-fall a welcome reminder of lighter things ahead. Including me, once I have all this off my chest and have answers rather than questions that seem unanswerable.
Honestly. Getting settled in Paris is so difficult, and such an investment of energy, brains and time, that I don’t foresee when I could ever leave to make the investment worthwhile. But maybe that’s a question of destination, after all. :-)