Le jardin du quai, Part two

Last night, I took a glass of wine and sat out under the trellis in the courtyard, listening to the neighborhood’s pair of turtle-doves call. They stated their love for each other over and over. “Yes, the light has morphed,” I thought. The vines tumbling over the wall were lit up from within, a golden x-ray that I could almost pull at like taffy between my fingers. I picked up my cell phone, then put it down. “Don’t fiddle,” I told myself. “There is plenty to see here. Plenty to keep me occupied.” Habits…I gave me head a sharp shake as if to let them go.

As I reached towards my glass, I saw that two leaves had fallen, just so, as if I had placed them prettily under my sluice of red. “These autumn leaves…” I hummed a little Nat King Cole merrily to myself… “beneath my window…” even if it is a wistful song. For Summer is solid in France, a yearly right of passage or a coda, something earned the rest of the year. And yet Remi and I had given ours over entirely to working in this new house, then moving, an investment in our future. Neither of us saw the time passing but it has and I am relieved.

For now, so much has been shed, just like blooms that had once triumphed brightly and yet are no longer useful. The boxes have been unpacked and stacked and in the middle of the night when I had to find my way down to the kitchen in the dark, I knew the way.

As I looked up at the sunset’s scrawling across the crowds, I sipped slowly and let my shoulders drop. “Goodbye Summer, you beautiful swanning girl. See you next year…” A light popped on in the kitchen behind me, Remi coming down to watch the evening news on a very important day when an entire government had faded into the past. Yes, change is in the air.