No, I said, "oui."07:29 Dec 07 2009
Times Read: 815
The night was bracing and the rain angled down with spritely mischief. We were delighted by everything we saw as we hurried along the Champs Elysees, especially the locals who paused to fight leurs parapluies, ineffective shields on this night when les fantômes de Paris turned them inside out for the sheer fun of it all.
This was a night for meeting the rain and the coming night, not for sheltering from it. We held hands and laughed when we saw l'Arc de Triomphe ahead. We oohed in tandem with the crowd when the beautiful christmas lights lining that historic street suddenly lit our way -theatrically magic, our rainy Paris.
Beneath the Arch, we marvelled at the scale and the sculptures in classic style which in relief seem to burst from the stone itself. He kissed me there, under that landmark I remember from textbooks, daydreams, and the Tour de France. Then, we were off again, flying over cobblestones on poor, ignored and tired feet. We had a tower to see!
I confess, I was never an Eiffel Tower fan. It just didn't seem worth the fuss to me. But when we turned a corner and he whispered, "Look!" I can't explain how imposing and special it is when you see it in person. They have it lit for drama; that's for certain. Every strut and angle is shadowed and glowing from within. It is massive, yet somehow manages to be a thing of elegance. We were breathless when we arrived, wet and cold beneath her. Looking up, if you are a couple of sci-fi geeks like us, you can imagine you are inside a great ship, looking into the belly of a wondrous beast of engineering.
We rode the lift and stepped out onto the observation platform. The wind seemed less spritely now...nearly brutal, with icy hands that toyed with the notion of sweeping us like toys right over the balcony. I ran about like the giddy elf that I am. I didn't care how cold it was...I wanted to see the Seine, our Arch, the City of Lights, herself. And I did. Magical, magical Paris at night and under the gauze of a misty rain.
And then, I heard my name, there above Paris. When I turned, he was on one knee and cold people were looking on, smiling and warming their hands while he asked for mine, holding a small box open with a beautiful ring he lifted out and held toward me.
I am neither young nor beautiful. (He is both.) I saw some of the most beautiful women I have ever seen on this trip. Yet, the fairy tale belonged to me...including the prince. If God could plan a perfect experience, he could not have added a single thing to this. I am happy. So happy and so grateful.
Thank you, London of the Globe, St. Paul's, St. Bart's, and Thames, my friend. Thank you, England of trains, churches, pubs, tea, new family, skinny bathtubs (that's another story), Irony, and history everywhere I looked.
Thank you, Paris of lights and love, rain, and the dreams you inspire. I even thank you, scary Parisian taxi driver who didn't kill us after all.
COMMENTS
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Irony
10:55 Dec 14 2009
I have to admit, I can't bear to remove that particular journal from my favourites either. We are both in self indulgent denial there:)