Sunlight glints off the river’s lazy curve, where poplars lean like gossiping neighbors. A dirt path winds past cottages with smoke curling from chimneys—someone’s just stoked the fire. The water holds the sky’s pale blue, but deeper, slower, as if time itself pooled here between the banks.
Paris hums under a winter sky, carriages clattering past the Arc de Triomphe’s grand silhouette. Gas lamps flicker to life, their glow softening the crisp edges of stone. The city’s pulse quickens as dusk settles—a fleeting balance of monument and motion, frozen in brushstrokes.