The First Winery

I should’ve known I’d meet you. The limitless vineyard. The turtle-shaped cloud. Everything had a strange significance or the cabernet was playing tricks.

You came in bubbly, balletic, hair flowing from beneath your hat, a shade of blond I’d never seen. I stayed close to get introduced. I don’t remember what was said, just your friends whisking you away and how everything would now be different.

The second winery was is an old mansion. I watched you through doorways, gliding behind balusters. I saw your reflection in a window through a break in the curtains. You seemed to remain in a room after you’d left.

I caught your eye, but bungled the smile. Was I smirking? You looked away. That guy, just now, wasn't me. I grasped for the Zin, the peppery notes confusing me further.

The third winery: the Pinot was standoffish, and I imagined so were you. I sat down in a chair, aloof and alone and swept out to sea.

Then came the chardonnay — a buttery, pineapple, second chance. You were out on the lawn. I could bring you a glass.

I made my move. We passed the squirrelly ball of conversation. If I could just get you laughing, everything would start.