Written on 07/11/2020
Nostalgia for the unacquired
As we sit in our rooms, alone or with our families, hoping for uncertain festivities, we recall the magical moments that wine offered us or accompanied us before "all this". Glasses drunk in good company, bottles tinkling at the bottom of the shopping bag, like festive bells ringing between leg of lamb and dark chocolate. Champagne corks popping over a bridal veil. While we wait for the disease to realize its lack of politeness and respect for what mankind has been trying to build over the centuries, to withdraw and apologize for having disturbed us, and to beg us to pick up where we left off, let's remember those magic glasses we took for granted...
The little red at the counter before a meeting, the one you drink without taking off your coat. We haven't even bothered to ask for the menu, and the waiter serves us a Gamay that's a little stale but has retained some of its qualities while we wait. We look at the time on the bistro clock. Twenty minutes to go. We're between appointments, and the autumn wind has cancelled the walk in the park we'd planned to fill the gap. We pay in cash, wipe the tannin from our lips and head off...
The two balloons on the terrace with a past love. We've had so much to say to each other in the months since we said those goodbyes we only half believed in. We smile fondly at each other, the bitterness gone. We exchange banalities, we agree on the same bottle, we toast without saying what...
Cool white under the shade of plane trees. The four of us share a meal in a house we've just discovered: an old water mill where ivy and children run around. It's the start of the vacations, but the visit to the estate will have to wait. We leave the luggage to sleep a little longer in the boot of the car, and a new rhythm sets in...
The vin d'honneur around the pool. After a quick examination of the bottles on offer, the choice is made and served. Everyone's on their feet, everyone's smiling. When the bride leaves, the gentlemen's eyes are drawn to her sister and the taut folds of her yellow dress. A petanque game is organized at the back of the garden. The glass is held by the stem so that the heat doesn't spoil it...
Friends, sigh no more: all those precious moments will return, and life will taste like grapes again!
