Napa in January

It was at the turn of the new year that I set off for a weekend along the dormant hillsides of Napa Valley. The Silverado Trail carved its meandering path along the valley floor. The cool breath of the evening sky had covered the vines with a dewy mist. The light was low. The light was soft. The land was resting.

The harvest had been blessed.
The vines, tangled like braids, rested in hibernation under the California sun.
They had given their fruit.
The wine knew that soon, it would share its glorious bounty.

I lingered. I tasted. I rested. I dreamt. I relished. I rejoiced.

It is after all... good for the soul.