Let me begin this post with a confession.
I am not the romantic in our marriage. My husband, the Italian, is the amorous one.
He’s tried numerous times to give me flowers – special occasion or not. But while I appreciate the sentiment, I fail miserably to show appreciation. I forget to put them in a vase… I forget to water them… I forget they need to be by a window for sunlight.
After a decade of marriage we decided the way to my heart is with a practical gift – like filling my tank with gas.
However, I wonder if living a few months in Paris would cure me of this deficiency.
The French treat windows with the utmost respect. They adorn the outside with colorful flowers, and the inside with intricate sheers.
The beauty of windowsills is what makes Paris – Paris, to me.
I took numerous photos of these colorful expressions of the tenants’ personality. I hope you enjoy.
|So simple, yet beautiful|
|LOVE these puppies|
|Les moulins avec les fleurs…|
|Dilapidated shutters rejuvenated with a bit of pink|