a pale pink vin rosé,
just a hint of a blushing pastel,
Domaine Ott, a French emigre,
an early afternoon chilled thriller,
the summer drink of the choix,
for us, symbol of summer
so cold
stippled beads of moisture
form on the outside,
your thumbprint
indents this exterior landscape,
marking territory as if you were
a first time explorer,
leaving behind your personal flag
to make sure everybody knows,
you were here first...
this of course,
but the icing on the cake
in the domain of the moment,
when perfect is the rule,
and the existence of life's objections,
all overruled
just us, the guests gone,
watching a living seascape channel
providing a endless parade of entertaining
sails, kayaker, kite paddlers on the wings of colored silk
and then peace,
peace of nothing, a summer silent drink
that warms the essence
the sun still high just enough,
cumulus interference refracts its rays,
but to insure the perfection of this
domain of the moment,
the breeze pretends it's human,
caressing you everywhere, even there...
you do not deny these blessings,
gratitude is great and never forgotten,
for you believe this can happen again,
a view, a voyage, a resting place in
the domain of the moment...