Stars at Elbow and Foot

Moment by moment. Time slips moment by moment and memory paints our lives in the colors of good and bad and sad and happy and bittersweet. My favorite memories are the ones where nothing much has happened. It's the memories of those days that were perfect, as if one had reached Elysium; all soft music and sunlight before dusk and warmth and love. There were a set of moments in Montmartre. Paris in the springtime. We climbed out of the Metro, a long and seemingly unending stairwell out from the depths of Paris into blue skies, no clouds. 67 degrees Fahrenheit. The air was dry and cool and crisp, as if it were charged with electrons floating about and crashing peacefully into each other invisibly around us. Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, with it's white stone, stood out against the electric blue of the sky as if someone had painted it in the boldest of colors. The painters were all out selling and creating pieces of art while all of us, the tourists/observers and the artists/creators e