It remains true that you can be in Paris, surrounded by grace and beauty, and still catch yourself wondering about heartworm season.
That you can be breakfasting on bread made by angels under the cover of night, cheese from goats to whom no opportunity was ever denied, strawberries so sweet Willy Wonka must have had a hand in them, and still miss your dog.
Because you see him everywhere.
\
These days I’m blogging about France. Lucky me. Other posts are here, here, here and here.