right and left

Time is an odd thing: there are days when it's of small importance. No deadlines, no storm brewing, no anxious waiting. And then there are days when it makes its presence known. Take this day -- Wednesday: I'm up, but it's the middle of the night still. Hours before dawn. I'll rush to the airport soon, hold my breath and hope that my flight leaves on time because otherwise there is no chance at all of making a tight connection in Amsterdam. Suppose I do make it: then will come a period of time when hours wont move quickly enough. All nine of them, in flight. But again, it's crucial that there be no delays, so I can catch a bus from Chicago to Madison early enough to beat the blizzard that's expected Wednesday night. If time is on my side, I'll be getting off the bus as the first fat snowflakes hit the ground. If Ed is even a few minutes late picking me up, time will feel interminable because I'll be tired and there will be snow.

In other words time will be my friend or enemy on Wednesday. But Tuesday -- it was irrelevant. The hours danced their own dance. No one cared what came in what order and when.

What few photos I have and the handful of comments I want to make on this last day in Europe I'll put together en route and post when I reach Madison. Or more accurately -- the farmhouse. For now, I leave you with just one photo, taken when I crossed the river. To the right bank? Well, not yet: Paris folk will note that this bridge first takes you to the island in the middle of the River Seine. So I'm suspended: between left and right, between Tuesday and Wednesday, between Paris and home.