What To Remember Instead of Casablanca

You must remember this, the way the young French waiter pronounced her name, Sarah Vog-gan singing "April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom, This is a feeling, No one can ever reprieve..." And how on a small balcony in Paris where God spends His summers, a baguette blessed with supper wine is holy. How Green is the property of street-lined sycamores, bursting giants of June. And, Blue, the divine province of Bleu de Paris, a sky gold-kissed in a sly embrace until no one misses the sun behind summer's spun-sugar clouds. And, pray you then, think of those mysterious shape-shifters in the Ebouie' fountain when bereft of seas, rivers, crystalline mountain streams, the softly heard roaring of their leonine songsters took us to a place where the salmon leap, their hearts bursting for home.