photo courtesy of Jay Pixley.
Marcel looked up from his easel. The pale morning light was just right. The trees’ diffused shadows in their ivy cloaks added just the touch required. Couples were strolling along, the women in gaily coloured gowns. Parasols twirling above their young heads. Young gentlemen in dark suits, others in candy-striped blazers, it seemed each was carrying a cane. Governesses walked in pairs, their black ankle-length dresses and bonnets like uniforms matching the prams they proudly pushed ahead, heedless of approaching pedestrians. Marcel noted the ladies’ hats, mainly of straw, some plain, some in pastel shades or striped in bright colours. All the gentlemen wearing boaters, deftly doffed as each young lady passed thereby causing a reddening of the cheek and a shy dropping of the eyes. When they passed arm in arm in pairs it was often accompanied by the sound of laughter.
Marcel reached down to his left and picking up a brush placed it between his teeth. He took up his palette and gazed once more down the deserted avenue of trees. His vision set in his mind he was certain he could now people his canvas with the representatives of an age long past.