4/8/14

Drinking her coffee, she knew this was ending, this pattern.  Today would be hot, like yesterday.  She could only think of her first day, selling her own bottles.  There was so much to work out, “logistically”, but she didn’t want to spoil what she saw.  7:34AM, the clock configured in its lifeless digital intone.  Maybe she’d be late today.  Take her time.  After nearly seven years, it was time she spoke, time she chased something for herself.  Time she started living what she wanted, chasing something worthy of early risings.

Yesterday on her walk, she thought about how she arrived where she currently strolled, in total.  The wine industry, the bottle that hooked her– or interested her– or tempted her.  She didn’t know which perspective to assign it.  But now, it was about wine.  Her wine.  Her translation of wine.  She would show everyone that she, only she, had this understanding of wine; connection to it; ability to translate grapes this way.

She finished her coffee, rushed.  She was ready to play the role, quite happy to, today.  Because she knew it was nearly over.