Last week an afternoon stroll brought me to the Musée Rodin where, for the price of one Euro, I entered to flâner in the garden. For a little while, I enjoyed the sunshine, statues, and peonies.
And then…
I cowered under the awning of the café for at least twenty minutes, watching the rain and hail pummel the ground. Occasionally a fat, icy drop fell on my head. It was a beautiful, messy, inconvenient, spectacular interlude. Eventually, the rain lightened enough for us to dash out and buy an umbrella. By the time we had finished our transaction, it had stopped. Isn’t that always the way?