It rains in Chexbres

Le Baron Wine Bar, Chexbres, Swiss Alps

Just a small coffee table between us now.

Ten years and ten thousand miles apart, and it felt like only yesterday, when all we had were memories—prized, collectible possessions, once given to us with such generosity.

Silver threads of rain connect us, cover the lake, tie us together.

“Why does it rain every time we meet?” I ask.

“It rains three hundred days a year in Chexbres,” you reply, ever practical.

“No,” I laugh. “That’s not true. It would rain in the Sahara if you and I had coffee there.”

We order cognac, local cheese, fresh bread. What defence could I possibly have against this open smile, these dark eyes?

None I could ever master.

You, me, and Lake Geneva. Nothing between us.

Not even a small coffee table.