Little drops of rain start appearing on the window panes. If I look at the black windows in the government buildings in front, I can see a curtain of rain sweeping across from west to east. Suddenly I feel so glad I’m indoors. As I finish up my compote de pommes, it occurs to me that I can’t really think of any interesting places to go to. It’s funny, since there are always more places in my mind than I can ever actually manage to visit. But that’s when the weather is not this hostile. With this image in my window, I’m just not in the mood. And yet I keep looking through it as the wind becomes more and more aggressive. I can hear something metallic clinking. I wonder what’s going to happen to all those Christmas lights the city is brimming with. Not that I really care, but I think of all those people who have been working so hard to put up those incandescent mammoths. There are few things as sad as work done in vain.

I can almost hear the branches of the trees sigh in relief, since they were trimmed a couple of weeks ago. The few leaves that managed to survive the haircut are now flying free. I’m also relieved, now that I remember thousands of birds used to live in those trees. Every time I went in or out, I was afraid I might get a little more of them than I was expecting. You couldn’t even tell the original color, even the original consistency, of the pavement. But I do somehow miss their racket, and I liked looking at them while they filled the sky with their funky little dance, making all sorts of shapes, going round and round. They wouldn’t be too pleased today. Their noisy concert would be a complete cacophony in this wind.

A young mother is returning from the supermarket with her baby. She’s forced to walk backwards, because otherwise the wind will blow off the plastic covering the pushchair and its passenger. I don’t know her and I don’t remember having seen her. In a building with 16 stories and about 15 elevators, you’re lucky if you know a couple of your neighbors or even keep track of faces.

When we’re on vacation, we often think of visiting many places and doing many things. Sometimes, though, it’s good to take a few minutes and look out the window, look at little insignificant details and have a cup of tea. I don’t do this back home, even on rainy Saturday afternoons.

A big Chinese bank, lots of government buildings of the Hauts-de-Seine department, a low-profile hotel, they’re all looking different now. A little beam of sunshine is finally elbowing its way through the dense clouds, as if trying to show who’s boss. Just a couple of minutes after that, there are hardly any clouds and the wind seems to have stopped. My mind starts filling with ideas as to what to do today. I love how the weather changes in this city. Small things just aren’t fun when they’re predictable.