colin is talking about wine

i'm listening

with wine it's the aroma, the blend

if it is a blend, the hues and textures

hold it right there buckaroo

is that for real

colin laughs and says it is

he talks about the earth, the seasons, the sun

the rainfall, or lack of it

the way i would talk about terri's . . . yeah

and i'll admit if the two 

can be likened, then the subtleties of wine are real

he also talks about the myths

associated with wine, smelling the cork

which is nothing more 

than a quick check to see if its gone bad

and the grading of wine

which is subjective and political

and i can see the subjective part, as terri

is an acquired taste, and i have not been objective

on the political aspect of wine, i say

please enlighten me

it is, he says, and i'm paraphrasing, like any business

who you know matters, brand loyalty matters

favors matter, reputation matters

but you, i say, paraphrasing

know wine on what level

i know it the way a coffee fan

knows the difference between arabica and columbian

speaking of columbian, he hands me the joint

and i'm suddenly thinking

of winslow arizona, standing on a corner

but the notion passes

we're on our way to the vineyard, it's friday

we've been going every weekend that we can get away

i love s.f., but i'm growing to love the vineyard

and the land, air, the open vistas, i know that sounds over-the-top

what is it about this guy

what planet is he from

tall and lean, who is lean these days

handsome

california surfer hair, sun-bleached

flannel shirts and jeans

poetry and botany

no visible girlfriend, no visible boyfriend

no particular need for anybody as far as i can tell

but kind and sweet, a blue-eyed darling

driving his f-150 that he rebuilt from scrap and rust

i don't ask him personal questions, not anymore

nor he me

but i'm not colin, i chatter away about every little thing, heedless

or heeding slantwise

seeing how it's going down

smooth or otherwise, a smile or a faraway look

dreamy guy

for a guy

but it makes sense, a grandfather such as he has

and summers, almost every summer

working in the heat and dirt

mixing spanish and english without thought

it's the same with marcy, private

an utter mystery to me

how is that they are so self-contained

while i'm so . . . not

we fall into silence, which is nice

miles slip by, it dawns on me

that if i hush and and enjoy the ride

i may better understand him

and possibly, though unlikely, myself

~

you're going to make somebody really happy someday

he says

blue eyes a-sparklin'