Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. The times they are a-changing. CHILDREN GET OLDER.

A lot of things have changed since August 22nd.

Where vacationing couples used to stroll along the hot sunny quais of the Seine, now only the most water-resistant Parisians walk, the cobblestones covered in puddles and strewn with rotting leaves. Where once there was scaffolding on the building across from me, now there is fresh-washed limestone. The sky has turned from deep summer blue to a variety of steel-grey and aluminum-grey and pewter-grey clouds.

There are neither leaves nor cobblestones in this picture. But I swear to god it's a thing.

When I first got to Paris, I walked past an abandoned office space every day on my way to class. After a week or two, the windows were boarded up and the abandoned office space became a construction site. It was a bit of a nuisance on my route, a gaping hole to sidestep, a pile of concrete dust that stuck to my shoes. And, like all construction sites, it seemed like it would never end. For three months, I walked past the men with jackhammers and sheetrock. The construction progressed, of course. One day they were bringing out the remnants of old walls, another day they were building new ones. But it never occurred to me that the construction would eventually be finished. I paid no attention to the progress, because construction is something that stretches on for all eternity. I never expected it to end.

But then, one day, they un-boarded the windows. And the new glass was shiny and clean, and the formica countertops inside beckoned like toys in a Christmas display, and the lighting setup was absolutely heavenly. Men in suits with clipboards replaced men in hardhats with power tools, and within a week there was a big red sign outside, and there were loaves of bread and macarons on the formica countertops, and there were fresh-faced young women with tidy hair behind the counter.

You can alllllmost see the baguettes.

I have been in Paris long enough to see the birth of a bakery.

Weird.