Wanderlust

Here I am, lonely lady on the couch, seconds from tears. It is interesting how strong are human desires. Where I am dying to be is Montreal, says everyone including me. Summer twenty-ten was one for the books; wandering, eating, loving, loving, loving. Frenchland suits me. Off the metro onto a busy platform, up up up the stairs (there are so many stairs), darkness everywhere but alas, a beam of light blinds the eye upon the weakest nudge to the heaviest of doors. Bikes for rent. Leftward bound is vintage and petite patios galore. To the far right, the prettiest park scattered with blankets and picnic baskets and kisses and one fountain, la fontaine. This is Mont Royal, tugging at my heartstrings.

But where are the snows of yesteryear? - Francois Villon