Back in Montreuil today. Lazing in the late afternoon with Proust. I look up from the book for a moment, out the window, and there, a magnificent rainbow curves across the cloudy sky like a dome. It seems to hang there, stretching horizon to horizon above the trees, forever. But then finally once when I look up it has vanished, nowhere to be seen in a perfect blue sky.
I’m stunned for a second, and sad, too, that the rainbow is gone. I see how I would have liked to hold it, fix it, keep it.
And yet, I then feel that it’s a marvel that it was there and that now it’s a marvel that it’s not there, too.