The snow of yesteryear just returned

I briefly made the acquaintance of Claire Mergeay in Brussels at Christmas 1964, when I was 18.
That year I was studying in England, at Brentwood School in Essex, near London. It was Christmas vacation and not realizing that hitch hiking was easy in Europe back then, I had decided to bicycle through Belgium and the Netherlands.

As I approached the center of the city, shortly after sunset on Christmas Eve, it was snowing hard, and traffic on the city streets was at a standstill. I was pushing my bike along the sidewalk when the driver of a delivery van signaled to me. He had to make a delivery and there way no way he could park and he couldn't leave his truck blocking traffic. I helped, carrying some boxes of coffee into a restaurant. Then he told me that his family was singing with a choir in the town square (la Grande Place) just up ahead.
The scene was magical. The lights illuminating the medieval buildings reflected off the falling snow. The choir voices echoed.

When the singing ended, he introduced me to his wife and twin daughters, Claire and Collette, who, like me, were 18. I was on my way to the youth hostel. They invited me to stay with them at their home near Waterloo.

I stayed two or three day. I remember few details only that I thought that I fell in love with Claire, and hoped that she cared for me as well. For several months, we exchanged letters. She recommended poems by Paul Valéry, such as "Tes pas, enfants de mon silence..." And I wrote a poem in French for her:

ENSEMBLE
il errait dans la rue
tout seul, perdu
du brouillard dedans, dehors
rien que les mains dans les poches
rien que le coeur dans la tête
il ne cherchait rien partout
elle errait dans la rue
toute seule, perdue
du brouillard dedans, dehors
rien que les mains dans les poches
rien que le coeur dans la tête
elle ne cherchait rien partout
ils se sont rencontrés
ils flânent dans les rues ensemble
clarté dedans dehors
rien que le monde dans les poches
rien que l'autre dans la tête
ils cherchent demain ensemble

We lost contact with one another more than fifty years ago.

I was married for 39 ans. My wife died in 2012. I live alone in Connecticut and write novels.

A few days ago I searched at Google for Claire Mergeay. I had searched before and found nothing. This time I found her obituary. She died in 2010. I also found an email address for a Martine Mergeay.

Martine just replied. She is a sister one year older than Claire and Collette. She wasn't home when I visited back in 1964, so she knew nothing about me. Then she called Collette and Collette sent her the scanned images of three snapshots taken that Christmas, including her, Claire, and me, standing outside their house in the freshly fallen snow.

Seeing those photos I couldn't help but think of Francois Villion's fifteenth century poem "Où sont les neiges d'antan?' " "Where are the snows of yesteryear?"
Then two story ideas occurred to me.

Life is too short. Why do we have just one life to live? I would prefer two or three or more lives, including at least one with Claire.

And realizing that Collette had saved those snapshots for fifty-five years, another story-line occurred to me. The narrator, having gone through this same experience, and getting in touch Collette now that they are in their seventies, realizes that he had fallen for the wrong twin. And he and Collette begin a December romance together.