I love the Parisian rain. It falls only long enough to collect the most inspired thoughts under the roofed terrasse of a local cafe, or slide into the surreal world of a nearby gallery. There exists something deeply romantic about the sudden gray skies and calm upon the streets. Many wintry afternoons are spent with umbrella in hand, searching for a distant rainbow. The return of the sun signifies rebirth. The artists soul is awoken in such moments. I can well understand how writers and philosophers found inspiration within such luminous stillness.

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