First Time Now Again

Walking the vineyard in A.M. Fall engrossing all steps. Color palate adjusted purposefully, for me, I have myself believing. I feel like a traveler from Iowa or North Dakota or Canada visiting ‘wine country’, my first time. This weather is a postcard. I’m walking in a postcard. I don’t want anybody to buy it, pull it from the spinning rack, shake me from my cooled post-harvest hosting.