Bone-dry Chenin, cedar and quiet

This evening, while the atelier's lamps warmed the 11th arrondissement, Chet Baker threaded through the room. Poured a glass of bone-dry Chenin and bent over a set of sketches — the arch redrawn until the line surrendered. Correction has a tenderness of its own.

Later, in the Pigalle duplex, low cedar light rimmed the hardwood I chose for its honest grain. A young man followed the rules I'd written, patient and exact; watching that discipline is architecture in motion. Offered a quiet dessert and the last drop of Chenin as a small, deliberate reward.