My Invisible Cloud

Posted on by Sandell Morse

Dinner tonight at Vins des Pyrenees, a very typical French bistro on a narrow side street near my hotel in the Marais. Dark wooden panels on the walls, dark wooden tables, dark wooden chairs, simple dishes, tasteful and served hot as if they have come straight from a copper pan to each table. I sat alone with a glass of Cotes de Rhone, waiting for the sea bass and haricot vert I’d ordered. I had my iPad and my red note book, that I’d nearly filled that afternoon taking notes as I interviewed Germaine Poliakov, her daughter and her son. Waiting for my dinner, I read essays by Daphne Merkin. I wrote in my red note book. I sipped wine. I offended no one as I went inward. I said to myself, “I am happy, completely and fully happy.” Yet, I knew my happiness was more than a feeling of that moment. I could live that moment because where ever I traveled I felt the presence of those I’d left behind, my husband, my family and all who loved me– my invisible cloud.



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One Response to My Invisible Cloud

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