Long Walks With Hektor in Cobble Hill

Ce soir, le vent qui frappe à ma porte,
Me parle des amours mortes,
Devant le feu qui s' éteint.
Ce soir, c'est une chanson d' automne,
Dans la maison qui frissonne,
Et je pense aux jours lointains.

Que reste-t-il de nos amours?
Que reste-t-il de ces beaux jours?
Une photo, vieille photo,
De ma jeunesse.

Que reste-t-il des billets doux?
Des mois d' avril, des rendez-vous?
Un souvenir qui me poursuit,
Sans cesse.

Bonheur fané, cheveux au vent,
Baisers volés, rêves mouvants.
Que reste-t-il de tout cela?
Dites-le-moi.

Un petit village, un vieux clocher,
Un paysage si bien caché,
Et dans un nuage le cher visage,
De mon passé.

Les mots, les mots tendres qu'on murmure.
Les caresses, les plus pures.
Les serments au fond des bois.
Les fleurs qu'on retrouve dans un livre,
Dont le parfum vous enivre,
Se sont envolés pourquoi?

One of my favorite activities is to take Hektor out for a long walk around the neighborhood. I walk with an iPod mini in my lefthand jacket pocket, Hektor's leash handle in my righthand pocket, and we stroll from one pretty brownstone-lined street to another, in search for adventure, or just the random lovely scene.

Recently, my iPod has been playing Charles Trenet's Greatest Hits album on repeat. There is a distinctly magical air about walking around this neighborhood with big band French music playing in my ears; the music transforms everything. I find myself ignoring the parked cars and seeing these old streets in soft focus. Anytime now, a horse-drawn carriage will be rolling around the corner, and stopping in front of a gas lamp. The wrought iron balustrades leading up to the homes grow and swirl into a wall of metal vines and flowers. It is fin-de-siècle, only not of this past century, but of the one before that.

I still go through bouts of ennui in the middle of this seemingly unending winter, but there are bright lights on the horizon: my friend and I are starting a letterpress business; I have finally gathered enough courage to indulge myself in penniless, artful pursuits; life without the 9-to-5 is gloriously thrilling, and my soul is fed by this freedom. I never want to go back.