After the incident, we took a bit to gather ourselves. We walked. The weather was beautiful, popped with a few clouds, with a cool wind blowing down the Seine River and whistling in the trees above us, shading the streets, adding dapples of light that twinkled on the sidewalk and pavement. Ravens and pigeons bustled about, and the city continued on move on without the slightest bit of consideration for my phone. It was what we must do also.
We turned a corner and came upon Saint Chappelle. The doors were open and a few people stood in line for tickets. This magnificent church began around 1238 A.D. and appeared to have been waiting for our arrival that day. From the smell of aged wood and dust and dampness to the solemn quiet feel of respect, the church seemed to envelope our stress and confusion. We sat. To me, it was as if we were incased in a jewelry box. I felt a bit better. It was not just a phone. I was more concerned with what information was on my phone. Jason Borne movies were playing in my head. My phone being taken to some evil villain’s lair and hooked to a fancy machine to pull out data. Silly, but it is what happens when something punches you in the face unexpectedly. We still had my wife’s phone, so we were okay.
We stayed for while, just looking and standing in amazement at the craftsmanship of the church. The intricate beauty of things. Everything seem to have it place and resonated in a complete and wholesome atmosphere. I said a prayer. No, we would not allow this to hinder our joy.
We left the church in a better frame of mind and walked to a restaurant for dinner. The sun was throwing its golden light across the city. The edges of leaves appeared gilded, and windows reflected the light back across the street, bouncing off of cars and buildings. It is hard to be a victim of anything, but it is what I was. My sweet wife kept reminding me that it was not my fault. Everything had been handled, and tomorrow is new day . . . with a scheduled bike tour of the city.