For the last few weeks, I have been traveling (Europe: Paris, Venice and Santa Margherita Ligure). In so many ways it was a wonderful trip revisiting Venice after fifty years and saying another fond hello to Paris after not seeing her for seven years.
I caught cold in Venice. It didn’t seem like much. A couple days later it got worse and went to my chest. For two nights, I coughed all night long. The rest of the trip I dragged along. The 24-hour travel time home was miserable. Three days after I got home, things were not getting getting better, so went to the doctor: I have pneumonia.
I went to bed expecting to take my pills and sleep until everything was good again. Good didn’t happen: yesterday, came the news about what happened in my lovely Paris.
I mourn the city I love most in the world. And I mourn the lives that were taken. This photo was taken just two weeks ago, in an era that was ever so much more hopeful in Paris. I shot it of a wedding party in the Luxembourg Gardens on a balmy, peaceful Sunday.