Just to say hi and breathlessly announce some style news from Paris: it's now OK to wear nude stockings. Really. You can see that little telltale crease on many carefully-shod insteps. (Of course if you are under 30 you are bare-legged till snow drifts.)
Even what we ungenerously called "cheaters" in high school, the knee-high version, seem to be acceptable with one's ballerines and loafers. Not that I have pulled up any Parisienne's pantalons to check, but I have my suspicions.
At 12C/32F, Parisiennes break out the parkas and duffles, heavy boots, bulky-knit scarves, even furs. They look bundled to us, as we walk comfortably in light jackets or a sweater.
Paris, as ever, gleams and drifts, winds and tempts. I'll report more next week, but today, a last long stroll in the brilliant, honeyed sunlight, a farewell blast of diesel, the seductive sillage of perfumes, peen-pong of sirens.