Paris, Wednesday 17 March

Birds singing at 5? 6 am this morning, but where are they? The only green around here is two long blocks away, and the only birds I ever see are pigeons sheltering in place on the knobs and ledges of the church across the street, and now and then a few seagulls up in the sky, keeping an eye on the garbage situation. All work has stopped on the church stonework, but the dust is still there. The gauzing veil they strung over the scaffolding never did much to keep it down, especially when they were sanding the stone. I have to think it was merely cosmetic.

The sun just rose: jagged shadows on stones and rooftops…and I am reading the headlines in 4 newspapers, French, UK, US. By now I can write the stories myself: the narrative has stalled (Le Carré, whose new spy novel I’m reading, would never let this happen).

One thing is new. How to wear a mask without ruining your hairdo? It should be easier to figure this out than the insurmountable disaster of the bicycle helmet. So I’m perusing newspaper photos of women in the US, the UK, Italy and France (my hair is frizzy and the Asian fashions don’t help much). I think Italian women have figured this out (they had a head start, but no Italian woman--at least the ones who make it into newspapers, and are photographed against worldclass fountains—would leave her house without proper footwear and makeup, her mask adjusted so the elastic is under her hair, not on top. I’ll try that later. But I’ll be wearing my Nikes, which are actually New Balance.