Walking through the vineyards, thinking about: sobriety, fermentation, unusual native birds, invasive species, what it means to be satisfied with grapes.

The evening sun had a thin opportunity beneath some heavy evening cloud, the evening itself heavy like the sky above the castle of Mugnana, the sky with the electrical storm that made me wonder if lightning really has to land somewhere, sky that had me thinking about Renaissance artists looking at the same sky, resulting in brooding paintings of dark clouds and deep orange suns that I don't think can even be ascribed to the Renaissance period. I know so little about fine art or its history, but I know a bit about skies just from being here.

This one, under the lid of heavy cloud, like a pressure cooker of rose petals and scalding water.

Before we came to the east coast, I had a 30 second conversation with a woman whose house we stayed in briefly. She and her husband were keen meditators. The house was a mild mess. The kitchen had the aura of many half-built shrines patched together as the milk's left to sour, but felt pleasantly lived in because of the attempt at peace. I asked what it was like, the place I was headed next, the place I'm at now. She used to live here, she said, up on the northern edge of the bay, in a town by the river. I said 'is it nice?' and she told me the place had a wonderful light, didn't mention anything on the ground.