Four Cafes
A long-ago January, my love and I spent a month in France. We rented a quaint
apartment up a hill from the road near a lake. The view from the window included lovely mountain flowers and grass down a path to four bar cafes, alongside each other, with outside tables. The apartment window captivated me. I could watch the people, hear their laughter and indistinct voices. All four cafes were quite busy, especially at night, which surprised me, as there is only one small village to support them. I would pour a glass of Cabernet, sit back and watch while my love was busy writing. The scene was enchanting, as if lifted from a painting. The lights from the outside dining made reflections in the glass of the pastel doors and windows. The waiters would go in and out, carrying large trays, while the patrons would walk back and forth between cafes. Sometimes there would be a shout followed by laughter It was a happy scene I'll never forget.
The prose above is entirely fictional.
March 4, 2023
for "Four Cafes" Prose Contest
by Julia Ward
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