Jardin du Luxembourg

What I want the most right now is to be in Paris, with you, in the Luxembourg Gardens.

We would wander between the formal rows of chestnut trees on our way to the orchard, where the apple and pear trees are in bloom. From there, it's not far to the statue of the lion, his body arched gracefully over his prey, his tail about to twitch with pride. We would walk past the marionette theatre on our way to the apiary, with its row of cunning little boxes full of drowsy, contented bees.

The thought of honey would make us hungry, and we would cross back to the dark green wooden crêpe stands near the eastern gates and order our old favourite, the sucre et cannelle. We would exchange a silver handful of coins for a deliciously warm, napkin-wrapped bundle. The iconic green chairs around the pond are always crowded, but we would manage to find two together and would sit, passing the crêpe back and forth and between us. There is an old man with a cart full of toy boats, and we would watch the well-mannered boys and girls approach him one by one, their faces glowing as they are handed their small, brightly-painted crafts. They reverently place their boats on the still clear water and soon become oblivious to the grown-up world around them, absorbed in their miniature naval battles.

Later, we would walk down to Shakespeare and Company and get lost in their labyrinth of books, the smell of crumbling paper mingling with the breeze from the Seine. We would each pick out something for the other and, when we go to pay for it, watch intently as the girl at the desk stamps the first page: "SHAKESPEARE AND COMPANY Kilometer Zero Paris". We would go and sit at a café to read, drinking our café crème and pretending to be locals, until someone tries to speak to us and our flat, Canadian accents give us away.