H. and I get into the heart of the town ( Aix en Provence) at about 8am. It’s just a 7 minute walk from the University district. We both enjoy this early morning visit. H. likes to participate in, and monitor, all the deliveries, rubbish collections, painting over of graffiti, washing of the streets, painting of white lines, setting up the market stalls, all to his satisfaction. ( a mayor in the making and hugely better looking than B. Johnson!).  And I enjoy understanding the public spaces – free of crowds – and the architecture, which becomes more difficult as the day moves into full gear. We both enjoy the freshness of the morning. 

We discuss the pros and cons of vehicles – the blue bike got a thumbs up from him.  The church spire looked beautiful  – good enough for me! 

The east end of Cours Mirabeau at the  junction with Rue de l’Opéra and Rue d’Italie, a  vehicle for him and, water feature and landscape space for me! 

A group of posulants heading off somewhere and the odd car and of course, driver,  hanging around waiting . . . . .

 . . .  the law courts just opening doors (what a frontage!)  . . . . off down Rue Joseph Cabbesol, echeverias hanging, with style, from a balcony . . .

 . . . We’re almost the first visitors to Parc Jourdan . . .

 . . . although those with dogs beat us to it. Short post and purposefully long poem from Maya Angelou. Hurrah and bazonka H.!

We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear

When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it. Maya Angelou

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