Even the falling leaves behave with a certain grace here, as if plainly turning brown and landing on the ground was below their Parisian standards. The way the trees are set ablaze appears almost as deliberate as their perfectly spaced placement along each side of the avenues across the city.
The temperatures have dropped, the wind brings a chill. But Paris looks warmer than ever, draped as it is in orange and red. The people look, if not truly lonelier, at least more melancholic. Soft whirlwinds form clusters of leaves around the legs of chairs and tables. The cafe owners sweep away at them patiently, morning, midday, afternoon, and morning again.
The Sun sets earlier every day, dusk surprises us still walking home from school, from work, from another’s home. It’s strange to enter the metro by day and emerge to a sky already showing stars.
Not that there ever is a bad one, but… this truly is a captivating time to be in Paris.