Paris winter light is to die for. When the sun is out. Its shadows are long and drawn out and the light itself pierces. It has been around periodically this week, even if I haven't - I've mostly been penned up working. I broke away today for a walk through Parc Monceau. My brain at the moment feels like it is made of fois gras. These trees squished through the fat and registered.
(Wait, is it still February 6? Is Spring really upon us? ['us' does not mean NY, because the answer is no]. Sold).