This morning, rain poured down relentlessly on harried commuters as they head in to the crowed Metro. The dieties of weather have decided it is time we all get back to work, the non-stop drizzle putting a ruthless end to any thoughts of stretching the season out just a little bit longer. There will be no lingering weekend escapes to the seaside, stolen moments tanning along the banks of the Seine, they are dreams to be neatly packed away for the year, along side our summer dresses, shorts and espadrilles.

The entire city is back and open for business as Parisians bid misty-eyed good byes to their carefully curated tans, consoling themselves with an evening visit to the nearest café in the hopes of catching up with friends and neighbors after a 3 week hiatus from reality.

Homes have become obstacle courses of empty suitcase, abandoned sports equipment, stacks of bills; reminders that tomorrow has arrived. Traffic jams of shopping carts clog grocery store aisles, spin cycles process 20 days of dirty laundry.

Our 90 minute flight from Ajaccio has taken us from endless summer to an undeniable automn. My skin rebels as I grab a wool sweater, my dermis knowing instinctively that it is too early for heavy knits. The transition back is a shock to my sun soaked being, and yet I am thrilled. Thrilled to be home.

Invitations flow in for art openings, catalogues announce theater programs, my in-box is full of news for upcoming runs. A friend calls asking if we’re interested in the outdoor opera at Les Invalides? This being France, the next school holiday is a mere 6 weeks away, so its time to start planning our next adventure… the perfect armour for facing “la grisaille Parisienne”.