It is quiet and I've misplaced my watch. Fortunately I have the time on my computer, so when I heard the town hall clock, down the street, ring, and begin to strike the hour, I was a little startled when it stopped at one. I was expecting twelve, a roundly satisfying twelve to round off a morning's "work" (if you can call it work) and send me to the kitchen to coddle some eggs for lunch.
My favorite sound: brooms swishing the gutters, the sweepers talking and laughing. No traffic today, hardly any people under the window, though, earlier, I did hear the unofficial guardian of the church's side door swear Merde! in a very annoyed voice. I think my neighbors, in the opposite building, must have gone away. We pretend not to notice one another, but we know who does what and when, when they play cards or watch tv, when I shower and dress (my bedroom across from their living room).
It is grey, a glowy grey. Pigeons make their pigeon sounds. I will stop now, get lunch, maybe run out for bread because I'm almost out of bread and fresh bread would be nice with my eggs, if the bakery is open. Maybe there's a paper. But from the quiet, it seems all of Paris has decamped for the holiday.