PARIS AT THE MILLENNIUM

Paris calmly regards at the end of the century through seductive, half-crossed eyes of une femme d'un certain age. She is wise and accepts the passage of time and its effects upon her elegant face and never longs for her days as an ingénue. 

Everything and nothing has changed. A vogue for rapid transportation has sullied the youth glow of her complexion, but cannot change her form - it has merely fitted itself into her life. 

Graffiti, often thought to mar and destroy, if for her, a series of love letters written by an endless stream of paramours in the hieroglyphic text of the late 20th Century AD. Her exquisite gardens and fountains, and her extrodinary symetry are eternal. Rein de nouveau. Stone, after all, is stone, and although not as pristinely pale and unmarred as in her youth, her many jewels and lavish gifts from kings and emperors are worn with a wisdom and grace that comes with maturity.

She exudes romance, exhales it with each breath, each breeze, and remains intoxicating as ever, perhaps even more so through experience and time. Her scintillating shimmer is undiminished, and she is still, after all these centuries, breathtaking in her beauty . . .