When I say Ula sticks very close to me when I paint, I am not kidding.  Here she is wedged right between the feet of my easel.  All those oil colors are precariously close to her light hair.  It's a worry.  But, oh, what a wonderful face to look down upon!

Even when the weather is not perfect, when it is overcast and it drizzles a little too persistently, the light in Paris is marvelous.   I struggle with finding the right words.  It's something I feel only in Paris, nowhere else -- a sense that life is being lit just as it should be. 
     In reading Edmund de Waal's wonderful book, The Hare with Amber Eyes, I find a quotation from the poet Rilke about Paris in the spring.  I can see that light again.
               ...in my own experience only Paris and (in a naive way)
               Moscow absorb the whole nature of the spring into them
                                                                                                     as if they were a landscape...
           

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