I walked the narrow cobblestone streets, looked at the signs in French, and smelled the aromas of delicious cooking.  The sky above was pink from the setting sun. The temperature couldn’t have been more perfect: about 72 degrees, matched to my light t-shirt.

I sipped some coffee, not because I needed the warmth, but simply because it seemed the right thing to do.  Drinking coffee is a time-honored tradition in Paris.

Except I wasn’t in Paris.

No, I was in Quebec, the city that is the capital of the province of the same name.

I strolled to the edge of the city wall and gazed out across the wide St. Lawrence River, 100 ft or so below.  I watched the flocks of birds in the sky.  I watched the ferries go back and forth and the freighters chug towards the Great Lakes. I relaxed as I saw many others relaxing on the benches, quietly taking in the spectacularly beautiful night.

A view from Quebec City at sunset

Not even the memory of the huge backlog of hockey-related writing I needed to do could spoil my content with the moment.