It is an annual ritual I treasure; the return of summer fog to the mountain …
As we await the coming of harvest, we toss dreams into its white expanse, like so many coins in a fountain …
A seasonal visitation to remind us that, while all that is solid melts into air …
… one need not stand on a dream to believe.
The new wines are coming, the last ones are leaving. In the vineyard, the past is always affecting the present, the present is always alive, and the future is already growing. Meaning, if the past is here, and the present is here, and the future is here, then this moment has within it: everything.
I wonder if you might visit? It is a beautiful time of the year.