A Few Vintages Ago
The night air is chilly with the onset of Winter. Those lucky enough to have jackets pull them tighter around their bodies, those without snuggle closer to the bodies of those with jackets. No complaints are to be had. There are lights in all of the trees. Tiny, iridescent orbs of radiance that seem to spark with fire, and wink flamboyantly as they illuminate the backyard, wishing joy and long life to those in witness.
The faint, tinkling sound of laughter, the inoffensive chinking of glasses raised in high toasts, the low hum of conversation, not to be confused with the almost unnoticeable whisper of wind as it gently caresses the inhabitants of the large, white tent. The women shiver absentmindedly, the men pull them in closer. There is a delirious smile on the face of every being.
On the tables in glass Mason jars, candles are lit, burning low and flickering. The hour is late. The cake plates are scattered over the lace tablecloths, dirty forks resting lovingly on mismatched China plates.
The air is thick with the scent of harvest, accompanied by a fading touch of Summer’s daisy field earthiness. Track of time has been lost. Nobody knows when it is appropriate to leave, nobody seems to care about propriety. The evening has been one to remember.
Bellies are full. Full of pancakes, full of wine, full of mirth. Eyes gaze lustily at other eyes. Desire is omnipresent, as it always is after experiencing extreme happiness. Small, curly-headed infants with pink cheeks and sleepy thumbs slumber comfortably on the chests of their mothers. Slightly larger, half-pint sized children lean on the knees of their fathers, eyes drooping, heads subtly nodding, and then suddenly jerking forward again as they force themselves to stay awake. The urge to sleep must be fought, for who knows when the next time they’ll be allowed to stay up this late will be?
One little girl, still very wide awake, is tugging at her father’s sleeve, begging for one more dance before they go home. He willingly obliges. As he stands up slowly, he catches her mother’s eye, and he winks. She smiles lovingly as she cradles the other Little in her arms. How tall her husband is, how striking he has become over the years. The awkward bloom of youth has left him. He lifts his child upwards and stands her feet on his feet. She barely reaches his waist. Slowly they begin to waltz around the floor in the magical way that only fathers and daughters can achieve.
Across the dance floor, a new song has begun. A tune as old as time begins to float over the dance floor, and a young man takes his new bride by the hand as he pulls her towards the center. He pulls her in close. A moment passes before they even begin to move. His eyes are closed, his chin barely resting on her forehead, face tilted downwards. As if he is drinking in every amorous drop of this very moment. Her eyes are open, she stares at a freckle on his neck. Quietly, she breathes in and out, letting the smell of his cologne wash over her. Mentally she records every part of this moment, the feel of his arms around her waist, the slight stubble of his chin against her forehead, the pattern of freckles on his neck, the stars twinkling in the sky above his shoulders, the smell of the night air, her freezing toes.
In the middle of this quiet moment, they both take note of the words in the song that is playing.
They start to sway.
“Quand il me prend dans se bras, il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose.”
“When he takes me in his arms, I will speak softly, this is life in rose.”
They look back on this day with fondness and happy memory. Every day that passes, they try their hardest to recapture that moment, so that their love may never fade. Year after year, they accumulated days and memories and moments very much similar to this one. And if you were to ask them their secret to so many successful years together, they would both tell you to take a look at life through rose-colored glasses. And then he would smile, and she would take your hand and repeat to you the words that she had inscribed on their wedding invitations.
“Des yeux qui font baisser les miens /un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche/ voila le portrait sans retouche /de l'homme auquel j'appartiens.”
“Eyes that lower mine, a laugh lost on her mouth, here is the untouched portrait of the man to which I belong.”
Theirs was la vie en rose.
“il me dit des mots d'amour
des mots de tous les jours
et a me fait quelque chose
il est entra dans mon Coeur
une parte de bonheur
dont je connais la cause
c'est lui pour moi
moi pour lui dans la vie
il me l'a dit l'a pour la vie
et d'as que je l'apercois
alors je sens en moi
mon coeur qui bat.”
“He told me words of love
everyday words
and it does something to me
it is entered in my heart
a share of happiness
I know the cause
is it for me,
for him in my life
he told it was me for life
and as I see him
so I feel in me
my beating heart.”
Theirs was la vie en rose.
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