Musings of a Butterfly

She has no burden. She stands, at the edge of a very high, grassy cliff,  head back, face up to the sun, arms wide open, and feels the warmth of the sunlight on her face. She has long black wavy hair. She is barefoot, wearing some sort of off-the shoulder gypsy dress that ripples, long and flowing with the wind. She feels light; a tremendous joy, and dances atop the cliff, a few feet away from an enormous drop into a peaceful ocean of blue. Precarious. Joyful. She dances to the music in her head.

Nothing could have prepared me for the beauty and magnificence of Paris. There is a magic here that I feel as I walk through the old streets. A freedom that is difficult to grasp or describe. It feels as if all my life I have been searching for something that I had lost. I think I've found it. It fills me with wonder and a joy that I haven't felt in a long time. Yesterday I got out of the metro station at Les Halles in the 1st arrondissement and came out in front of the L'eglise Saint-Eustache, simply a masterpiece of Gothic architecture. As I looked up, my breath got caught in my chest as I inhaled deeply. How could I not be in awe? Mozart chose this place for his mother's funeral. Richelieu was baptized here, and Moliere was married here in the 17th century. Surrounded by culture and history so deep, so rich was I and all I could do for this moment was to sit  down on a bench and stare up at this beautiful church just as Enya's Deora Ar Mo Chroi played on my ...