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Seeing everyday America through African Eyes

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“He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.”

~Friedrich Nietzsche

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I know I am in France, because everywhere I look I see beauty.

This was my first impression when I took my first walk in the town of Saintry sur Seine. It still is.

A 60-year-old-looking Frenchman is sweeping his wooden gate as I walk by.

“It has to be clean.” He tells me with a shrug and a smile.

I smile back. The Frenchman seems to have come out of a postcard. All he needs is a beret.

Everything in France is old and charming. You can feel the centuries of stories in every nook and stone. I admire the old wooden door with its rough iron handle.

Gates here could be the subject of an entire photography book. They are all so different and original.

French people have a particular eye for beauty. In early April, the purple-scented flowers showered me with their perfume as I walk underneath them on the sidewalks. The following month, the town is now decorated with potted flowers at every window, framed with wooden shutters.

For me France is a guide post in this stage of my new life, pointing in the direction I choose to take. And because these sign posts are French, they do so with charming details, on a backdrop of the river Seine.

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