There are times when we close our eyes and tell ourselves we’re going to remember a moment forever. Maybe it’s just too precious to let slip, or maybe it’s because we discover some small part of ourselves in it. And because our eyes are closed, it’s usually a sense other than sight that assists us in solidifying the memory. The crash of a wave, the faint brush of someone’s skin, the colorful sounds and smells of a carnival, or the sweet aroma of a budding spring.
For me, it was a bath of sunshine. Over a month ago, I lay on the grounds somewhere between the gardens and the palace of Versailles. On one side of me were my two friends and on the other, an expanse of prickly grass. We had wandered the never-ending jardins du château de Versailles for hours on what, I was convinced, was the last true day of summer, as the temperature steadily declined from that day on. So we set down our tired limbs and basked in a rejuvenating warmth. It was the first time since my arrival in Paris I’d felt so completely free of any lingering cares. Time became lethargic, steeped in the honey-sweet rays, inducing a welcome coma of eternal summer.
The bitter winds of October are biting, but I still come back to a sunny day in Versailles, spent in leisure and light.