At the cafe

Cafe Dumond

I wish we were back at the cafe, that day, with our little girls and powdered sugar everywhere. 

Hot coffee, hot. Summer morning. Day’s reaching out to us, “come see….”.

Those girls, our girls, not a hint of horror, not a moment of mistrust. Sugar girls.

The sweet sun never set on them, not at all when we were there.

Days are cold and dark, now. Drizzly to the bone, days. Night before I leave, days. Night when I return, days.

But when I think of them, and you, and me… too, (pensive though I always am, because)

It seems to make the sun shine, shine around me.

 

If not inside.