A pastoral poem |
| Chardonnay Summer The highway trickles down to a one horse country road winding with the grace of a spring filly in fall. Tall poplars line the lane as it ambles south and slows, gravel underneath makes a crackle then a yawl. The summer day has cooled with evening's mystic cloak falling without sound upon the vineyard. I'm stayed remembering green days when we walked to the gnarly oak near the vines and laughed at nothing, unafraid. Today like yesterday, the Chardonnay ripen on the vine, our initials carved in the trunk of the tree are visible still in the rough bark aged like the wine we now savor beneath our grape leaf canopy. ---Judi Van Gorder Notes: ▶︎ |