A walk in the park (Paris)

When I was on a week-long trip to France as a high school student, I broke the buddy-system rule and went off on my own on our last day, armed only with a camera loaded with black and white film. I found my way to the Jardin du Luxembourg that afternoon and tried to record the oldness of it all. I was fascinated.

Returning two decades later, I could see many parts of the city had undergone noticeable changes, but the parks remained virtually the same. The paths, the trees, the statues, they were all right where I'd left them. I wandered for hours between leafless trees, no longer worried about cutting my day short to meet up with my classmates. I revisited old friends and discovered some new secrets that I'd missed before.

Ah, the romance of death. Such a strong attraction in the teen years.

This is new. I have no explanation for this.

I feel like I've known this lion and its twin for most of my life.

I never knew there was an orchard tucked away in the far corner of the park. Away from the eyes of tourists, they grow six hundred kinds of espaliered fruits, including these persimmons. And they keep bees. So many things to learn, if you have the time.

The parks in Paris are ageless in my eyes. Moss blankets the north-facing sides of statues, crows strut past empty benches in search of leftover baguette, pensioners walk arm in arm with little dogs in tow. While I understand change is inevitable, I'm glad this little part of the world has managed to stay intact a little while longer.