A Week in France, Alsace to Paris
Alsace first, Paris after — a week of it, and Colmar took the biggest share. The girls found the old two-story carousel and rode it like they hadn't outgrown it, one yelling from her painted horse with a fist in the air, the other playing it cool under her sunglasses. Down at Petite Venise we leaned on a bridge over the canal with geraniums stuffed into every window box, and somewhere between the half-timbered houses and the souvenir stalls I ended up with a chocolate-dipped cone in one hand while my wife laughed at me for it. Nobody offered to share theirs.
The clock tower at the Colmar station was the last thing we stood in front of before moving on.
Paris went up instead of out. The girls got onto a rooftop with all of the zinc roofs and chimney pots spread below, the Eiffel Tower off in the distance, and one of them stretched her arm out over the railing like she meant to pinch the tower off the skyline. Her sister leaned on the ledge and let her carry on.