In the afternoon of cold spring, it was plainly sitting on a bench could not be more public in a garden well known, well traveled, well-traveled of regulars and tourists bundled up fallen under the spell of these places.
American tourists, Japanese tourists, tourists from Italy ...
She added a dark jacket over her elegant holding shoes with high heels, black stockings, skirt rather short but still good, well indented blouse.
And heads turned toward her, eyes lit up and smiles nestling in the corners.
Americans were making round eyes, the Japanese could not afford that luxury smiled inwardly, while the Italians came alive and continuing to walk let their hands wander more nimbly along the body of their partner ...
In this garden, around the bench, lots of inspiration, implicit collusion and imperceptible, but nonetheless real.
Each of these pairs of walkers set off again with a beautiful memory in my head ...
Why the fuss?
The beautiful, sitting quietly beside me, let me cover her eyes with a black headband, and our hands were parties to the discovery of each other ...