In the shadow under the grapes, I find solace from the persistent sun—it’s rays, strong and penetrating, like loving fingers unwittingly leaving me tickled into explosion. Did the Romans seek shelter here, under the overhang of these vines—when the heat of the vineyards was too much to bear?
How did I end up here, in Tuscany, this sweltering
place? I ‘took the car for a trial run’, I guess—spreading my wings
from the restrictive monotony of college study, having so tirelessly
ticked on and on and on with erudite ideas (until we reach oblivion?),
leaping at the chance for feeding my thoughts with more experience, more
I raise my glass of vino to myself: Way to go, little drummer!
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