Paris. Surrounded by myth and magic. (So much so that it is difficult to objectively make your own mind about it, isn’t it?) Its reputation inevitably precedes it. But maybe that in itself is inevitable – what with all the history and art and literature and the eccentric French…
A good while ago, I shared my daughter’s first drawings of people. They appeared mysteriously, out of nowhere, and then ceased to be in the same mysterious manner. After those drawings that I shared, she never drew people again. I asked her to try a few times, but she blankly refused. So I abandoned the topic.
Yesterday, I was trying out this new recipe for our Sunday breakfast. It was taking me a while, so the bored girl got out her markers, some paper, and started working away to pass the time. And all of a sudden the people were back! Six months after the first incident, once again without prompting or anything to explain this timing, she started drawing people. And this time they were not just random faces, but the people she knew very well – our family!
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