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Paris is my pastoral romance.

Walking the quay along the Seine, I feel as though I've been here before. Time is standing still, on purpose, just for me. Every building, every boat, every bridge seems familiar, a part of my past. That fellow who sits in front of Musee d'Orsay - hasn't he always been there? Some ineffable quality of Paris just has to be experienced.

Perhaps I've filed in my memory every detail of this city from the Evening News. It seems a lifetime that I've known Paris intimately, but I've never been here. Across from the Eiffel Tower, we head down the long steps to the quay, where Batobus, the perky little river taxi, comes bobbing, frolicking across the water to meet us. Animated, it seems to know us, to be there just for us, and I could swear it's saying, "Hi" and wagging a tail. As we parade under bridges and gaze at statuary that reaches out to us from the water, River Seine whispers, "You've come."

All this animation demands that we pay attention. I can't shed this "I was waiting for you" voice that I keep hearing, but continue to smile and feel warmed all over as David reaches for my hand. The gesture clearly reveals his perception of this procession down the Seine to our first view of the ancient inner city as a major event in our lives.

Yes, something magical is about to be revealed. We're drinking in every detail of the UNESCO World Heritage Banks of the Seine, and indeed everyone on the boat is dead silent, as though we're in a movie theater. We say not a word until we see Notre Dame, where we both spontaneously pop up from our seats.

Stopping in front of Notre Dame to admire the statue of Charlemagne, touring the Cathedral, Paris City Hall, and Isle de la Cite, we are still silent. Everything instills us with reverence, especially Place de Greve in front of City Hall, where many early revolutionaries were quartered. This was the medieval marketplace, and I must try to imagine how the stage was set in other centuries.

Today, Place de Greve is clear and looks like a giant stage. I'm glad we're seeing it in early April, before the fountains are turned on. All the ancient city recalls scenes of two millennia. I imagine the incredible Hotel de Ville (City Hall) burning during the Civil War of 1871, when workers of Montmartre saved the city from the Prussians and then took over municipal government only to be burned out days later by Thiers' army.

"Oh, look, David. There are the statues of Art and Science that we had pictured in our high school

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