PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I was in Paris. Traveling. The city of light, they use to call it. And light isn’t Eiffel, for light means love. Love meaning Eiffel. Meaning coffee in the sunset. Meaning the big gothic-style churches and in the very top some mockingbirds singing gracefully. Or the skillful musicians in front of Notre Dame, playing masterpieces all day long. What a nice aroma it can be smelled in the mornings from what used to be my balcony. Fresh air filling my lungs. But for the majesty it involves, I had never understood love anyways. So it was sort of a waste. I am a photographer. A good one I may say to myself. The one type who keep using old cameras and big lenses. The one who spends whole nights in a black room, just for fun. One day, I was walking down Champs Elyse’s, heading to Arc de Triomphe. As always I got curiosity, for I heard soft music in an old alley. I turn. Then I encountered them. They were about eight or nine. Old couples, old ladies, old gentleman; dancing to the rhythm of flamenco. At first I thought it was weird and funny, then I saw it. I photographed the whole scene with my old Nikon. It wasn’t music who led them to dance in that majestically way. It was another thing. Maybe their heartbeats or maybe the air. Air moving them forward and backwards, from one side to another. Air moving them like a couple of leaves in an Oak, in the fall. It was love.