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A thick white blanket enveloped my beloved city this weekend. In six years, I have never experienced a single transformation of this town like I did these past three days.

Beginning on Friday around dusk (4:30pm here in Paris at the height of winter), large snowflakes began to fall from a velvet sky. At first, I thought we’d be graced with a light dusting, like in so many winters past, a thin sheet of white that would disappear by the time I awoke the next morning.

By midnight on Friday, however, Paris was under siege. A heavy layer of purity covered everything. The city was still, silent; Parisians snuggle in their beds unaware of the metamorphosis. Throughout the weekend, some of the most beautiful snow fall I’ve seen descended with varying haste from a sky open to deliverance.

Paris is not equipped to deal with so much snow. The sidewalks on Sunday were white and solid, the roads practically bare as snow tires are an unnecessary precaution in this city… most of the time.

And so it was quiet in Paris this weekend. A blanket fell upon us all, deafening the hustle and bustle of our everyday lives.

Take a peek…

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