We visited Nice yesterday to see about joining the English and American Library. While we were waiting for the library to open we walked through to a little park which we had glimpsed across the road.
It was a lovely park, fringed by gorgeous, ornate buildings which had decorative features which held the eye yet managed to stay restrained and unflamboyant.
The park was full of young people, some on their lunch break, some having a picnic, some looking like they were on the verge of ending their relationship.
Sitting alone on a bench, however, was someone who looked both out of place and astonishingly in her place.
She was an elderly woman, she could have been any age from 65 to 85. The incredible thing was that she looked like she was from not the 21st century or even the 20th. She looked like she lived in the 19th century.
She had a strong and stalwart air. It looked like she had seen and experienced a great deal and had weathered it all. She was her own person and would not have cared in the least that she looked like someone painted by Cezanne or Toulouse Lautrec.
I wondered who she was. Then I realised that she just was.