It is a quiet weekend, because Monday is a holiday: May 1, the Fête du Travail, Labour Day. Yesterday, out running errands, florists’ displays were full of Muguet, Lily of the Valley, traditional for this holiday, I even saw a cake shop with a chocolate cake in the window, lily of the valley in white icing on its top. It is sunny and, of course, if locals may have gone out of town for the weekend, there are lots of tourists as soon as you find yourself in a touristy spot.

I was in the kitchen, doing something for supper yesterday when I happened to look out the window and there, miraculously, on the black metal railing around the little balcony that overlooks the courtyard, a blue tit had perched. We have lots of pigeons but a blue tit? Never, as far as I can recall. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one anywhere in the neighbourhood, even in leafy parks. It felt like a visitation, a message about something. But then, as I was watching, off it flew over the rooftops. There must be a poem in this somewhere, but where?

Beverley Bie Brahic