bits of summer drift lightly in the wind — dark green leaves melt into light brown — crisp books are opened for the first time — golden highlights resting on cheekbones glisten into a blur — hair flies in soft waves while running through tall fields of grass — pens leave new graceful strokes onto journal pages. behind the arch of glory sets the day. the river lies in curves of silver light, the fields elysian glitter in a spray of golden dust. the gilded dome is bright. the tower of notre dame cut clean and gray the evening sky, and pale from left to right. a hundred bridges leap from either quay. pillared with pride, the city of delight sits like an empress by her silver seine. heavy with jewels, all her splendid dower. flashing upon her, won from shore and main by shock of combat. sacked from town and tower. wherever men have builded hall or fane red war hath gleaned for her and men have slain to deck her loveliness. strong enough to rise again after being trampled upon, tough enough to weather. the worst of the summer storms, and able to grow and flourish even in the most broken places