The slow blowing of the wind carried with it subtle notes of saltiness. The late afternoon sun cast long dancing shadows on the terracotta tiles of the patio.
The days of late May on the Island can offer unique views and scents, Matilda thought with a smile. Intent on gathering her hair in a soft chignon, she sat on the worn wicker chair, wrapped in a fresh linen pareo. She was ready to welcome the benefits of the new season.
A little further on, Antonio was pruning a wild bougainvillea. The bright purple flowers created a stark contrast with the whitewashed wall.
“Another very hot day, isn’t it, dear?” She said, looking at Antonio, busy cutting a wilted flower.
“Yes, darling. A day suited only for contemplation.” He said, wiping a drop of sweat from his forehead.
“Exactly.” Matilda replied. “The sun is starting to set and you’ve worked enough in the garden.”
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“And I’ll set the table for our break. Today,we’re late.”
Matilda was thinking about white wine, served cold, with baked bread and cheeses. Perfect pairing, while admiring the symphony of cicadas around the garden.
Antonio smiled at her. Your voice, warm and reassuring, is the only symphony I never want to stop listening to, he thought.
Matilda set up the wrought iron table in the garden with a small bouquet of wildflowers. There was everything needed for a tasty appetizer.
Antonio arrived soon with two long-stemmed glasses and a bottle of a Chardonnay. He deftly uncorked the wine. The scent of medlars and flint filled the air. He poured a generous amount into each glass.
“To life, Matilda.”
“To life, Antonio.”
Their knowing glances met over the rim of the glass.
“To the present and to the future. Ours.” He said. They clinked their glasses.
“This wine is magnificient.” Matilda whispered, her voice full of honest appreciation. “I have often wondered: why Chardonnay wines? We have shared various types of international wines but your love for this vine has always been special.”
Antonio gave her a smile.
“Do you remember our first dinner as a married couple, Matilda?”
“How could I forget.” Matilda replied. “Our first day in our tiny house.”
“You, so young, so beautiful, eager to conquer the world.” Antonio remembered with dreamy eyes. “I, more mature, yet not so far along in my notary career.”
“We lived on our love and our dreams.”
“And our daily glass of Chardonnay.” Antonio said. “At that time we could only afford the cheapest wines.”
“Our cuddle during the meal.” Matilda said.
“That’s why I love to drink it. It’s a way of celebrating our youth.”
Matilda nodded slowly.
“A metaphor for our past.”
“Exactly,” Antonio said, his voice choking with emotion. ‘With every sip, I relive a little of the magic of those times.’
They remained silent, their eyes never stopping to look at each other.
The chirping of cicadas and the clinking of glasses as a backdrop. The sky was tinged with orange and purple as the sun set below the horizon.
“Antonio, you are a romantic old man,” Matilda said. “A little crazy, too.”
“And you, my darling, are the perfect audience for my madness,” he said, raising his glass again. “To madness.”
“And to many other Chardonnay.” Matilda smiled.
They toasted in the comfortable silence of their world, pampered by the memories of a generous past.
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