Before Mom Calls For Dinner
A couple of years ago, I think it was 2009, I was standing in the village I grew up in, on the shores of the lake of Geneva, in Switzerland. I hadn't visited the place in a long while and yet, places from ones childhood have this singular way of retaining a certain familiarity. I remember how it was oyster season and in the middle of the vineyards, some posh people had come from afar to have shellfish in a cellar. I heard them happily chatting away over their dinner in the galley in front of the terraced main square of the village. The sun was setting in my back and I was staring at the lake, waiting for the car to turn up, which would prevent me from having to walk back all the way up the hill to the place I was staying at... yes, I'm a bit lazy sometimes. It just so happened that I felt an urge to turn around, suddenly facing the backlit kids playing soccer behind me. They were joyfully kicking the ball around, just as I remember having done ages ago.
They could as well have been us.