November Slant of Light

Strong weekend winds whisked the last of the dry leaves from the vines.

A full November moon gave way to a brilliant orb at sunrise, and suddenly, standing on the sunny slope of the South vineyard, or beside the lake on the North, there are clear lines of sight.

A five acre vineyard somehow seems a lot smaller, no longer contained by green walls of leafy trellis.

Today's wind crests in white-peaked waves across the spring fed lake. The swan family, resident ducks and passing Canada geese bob along in the current, nonplussed. A spindly legged doe, perfectly camouflaged against tawny apple tree trunks, munches contentedly from late-ripening fruit, lingering yet on denuded orchard boughs.

These are days to catch up on trellis repair, to inspect the growth and development of woody trunks and cordons, and to think back on the season that was, and look ahead to the one yet to come.

Somehow, something as simple as the grape leaves finally being clear from the trellis wires opens the mind from day-to-day concerns, and clears space to reflect back, and to look forward.

There is something about a November slant of light: it changes by the minute beneath rapidly advancing clouds. Neither as intense as the full summer sun nor as austere as winter's meager yet welcome rays, it colors newly opened vistas, illumining a brief pause from the immediate needs of hundreds of vigorous vines.