A furious rain beat down upon me as I walked to the top of the hill to look out over the islands.
I sheltered under a wiseoak and watched the crows and gulls soaring on the updrafts.
I thought of Paris, a city I love the feel of and not for the fortune cookie romantic cliches but for its beauty, its order, it's cut-price cassoullet and its vibe.
I thought how I have been due to go back there to complete the mammoth walk that I started with someone who is now just a friend, where we did our usual over-impulsive enthusiasm and ended up stomping for about twenty miles until we had walked so much, that we could not stop because we literally would of seized up.
I started laughing into the wind and rain view as I remembered asking for guidance at Francois Truffaut's grave in Montmartre cemetery, touching the black marble he just replied (in a cod french accent) 'you've just got to keep going mon amee'. Thanks Francois.
So I have kept going, through the lows, lower and lowlives until I started to climb to the lip of something brilliant, just to look out and admire the scenery.
The problem with life it seems that we remember strategic moments, but we don't remember the effort inbetween, so everything seems like it was only yesterday, because memory is selective and then we say 'where did the time go?'.
It went the same way it always goes, onwards like time and tide ever-constant.
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