In A Station of the Metro

In A Station of the Metro - Ezra Pound 

The apparition of these faces in the crowd; 

Petals on a wet, black bough

Lately, I've been very pleased with the strides that I've been making in French. Though I still find myself frantically checking google translate for the obscure verbs that come up in conversation, I feel as if my comprehension has already increased significantly since I've arrived.

 One thing that has surprisingly helped my comprehension has been eavesdropping on the train. i never thought that my desire to hear what I'm not supposed to hear would drive me to learn another language, but it has had a surprisingly significant influence. Perhaps this is something I shouldn't want to admit.

 Today, I was able to understand an entire conversation between a group of adults. Having jumped in late to the conversation, I quickly began to realize that they were talking about how obnoxious the group of Americans next to us were. I hear some sneers from the peanut gallery. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to blend into the crowd of ambiguous frenchman. It's not that I'm ashamed of my country or my American identity, but it would be nice not to stick out amongst a crowd every waking moment of my life in Paris.