I am sitting in a familiar bistro by the waterfront, in much the same seat I have occupied at least twenty times in the past few years. Each visit, the view is remarkably different. Today, the faint winter sunlight has drawn a number of us from behind closed doors to bask together in the brief midday warmth. I am dressed all in black, to absorb all I can. I am stretching out my arms and happy beyond measure to be here. The bare trees nearby are doing the same, tempted to push out tender buds into the sixty degree air, but they know better. It’s only January and there are certainly colder days and nights ahead.
For a brief hour or so, we sojourners luxuriate in more than just the energy from our home star, millions of miles out in space. We are also enjoying the company of one another, even though the only real conversation between us consists of an occasional nod or smile. We all realize that this is a special moment. If I could sing well, or at all, I would burst out with a chorus from Leonard Cohen’s version of Hallelujah. But I will spare the others around me the pain. Just thinking it is enough to make me grin out loud.
So why is the view always so different from the same vantage point? It’s about the people who come and go, most of them visitors who stop to pore carefully over a menu almost identical to the ones in every other eatery in the village. I understand their concern. A lunchtime in France is not something to be squandered. But whether the food is good, or just average, we are mostly here today for the sun. By that measure, this day has been a great success.
“What day is it?” asked Winnie the Pooh. “It’s today,” squeaked Piglet. “My favorite day,” said Pooh. This last thought courtesy of A.A. Milne.
