Sunday morning, blue sky, sunlight bouncing off building facades. Last night, bedtime, pouring rain drumming on the zinc roof of the church opposite. We kept the window open at bedtime to listen to it. After living with California drought for years, I’m magicked immediately by the sound of rain, a sound from childhood in drizzly Vancouver, except then I hated it because it made my hair curl—frizz, rather. Now it soothes me.

My daughter has popped over from London; I’m trying to unload stuff on her, but no go, except for a kite I hung in a window until I fell for a bigger and more beautiful kite from Japan. Better than curtains and just as good, almost. She’s going to try it in her Hackney street-facing window.

Maybe a day for a walk along the Right Bank quay?

Beverley Bie Brahic