Sunny winter days are the best, don’t you think?

As I was walking around the lake yesterday, I was remembering the parks in Paris; how there were so many tables and chairs, all set up for the old guys (not that old, really, but they retire early in France) to sit and play cards or chess for hours; how you were not allowed to sit on the grass; how manicured the trees were, all set out in even rows, not a leaf out of place; how few birds there were. The tiny ponds were full of toy boats, the paths were lined with little cafes and there was evidence of people, and all the paraphernalia that goes with them, everywhere.

At the lake where I walk, it’s rarely crowded, not even on weekends when lots of children come to play at the playground. The water is wide and serene, apart from the swish of a passing kayak or maybe a duck. You can roll on the grass if you want to. The trees are skinny, leaning gums or ratty-looking wattles. Wild birds, feral bunnies and foxes abound. Nature seems to be creeping in at the margins.

I loved visiting Paris, but I’m very happy to live here.

(However, if someone wants to set up a little crêperie by the lake, that would be so cool.)