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| Ozias Leduc source |
I had arrived at the country house on the night of Friday the 13th, where in general we dine by candle light. It had been a fairly long drive with some heavy traffic where it wasn't expected. But we were happy to arrive, light the fires and begin a peaceful weekend. We didn't know what had happened back in Paris. Then just before going to bed, my worried sister called from the US thinking we were still at the apartment.
Sometimes we know there is far too much said of tragedy in the media - classic and social - and our minutes of silence could easily be multiplied by 1000. Yet how is it possible to speak again of art, of beauty, fabrics, decoration and other privileged preoccupations in a blog such as mine without aknowledging our mourning after the barbarous acts of terror in our beloved Paris,
in our beloved world ?
in our beloved world ?
The right words lack before the gravity of this situation
but words are the first things we have at our disposition to find unity. And because in communicating we reinforce our courage, I have borrowed these from Edmond Rostand's proud Chantecler,
C’est la nuit qu’il est beau de croire à la lumière.
It's at night that faith in the light is admirable.
