Harmony

Rilke tried to describe it, in The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge: the peculiar feeling one gets when loafing about Paris on a beautiful day. It's as if the whole city is some sort of painting, some sort of cohesive whole that harmonizes with itself brilliantly. Of course, the visiter to Paris is not a part of this marvel - he is just relegated to watching and observing. It's beautiful to do so, but it's more beautiful, I imagine, to be part of it all. I've had this feeling many times, especially on Sunday, when this sense is most obvious and acute.

Take, for instance, today: I wandered into the Place des Vosges and had my breath stolen from me by the vibrantly yellow trees surrounding the whole park. Families, teenagers, lovers relaxing on benches and in sunny patches of grass. Fountains gushing. Hardly a cloud in the big blue sky. I crossed through the park, underneath the little arbor in the center, and music came to my ears. Classical music. A 10 or 12 person symphony was performing in the gallery around the plaza. They chose popular, recognizable tunes, all of which seemed to coordinate perfectly with the vision of the park. When I left the plaza into the quaint streets of the Marais, I could only wonder how it was possible for a place to be so inclusively beautiful.