How to Plant a Vineyard, Part 18: Near the End

Monotony, a word close to those who cultivate vines. Monotony means rhythm. The constant, tonal movement up and down the row, staring at the hundredth bush, turning off thoughts and turning on the brain’s autopilot.

Six months and ten days. That’s how long it’s been since the first planting. Only half a year, or maybe as much as half a year, only it seems in a different dimension of time, probably light, because time, indeed, because the life before seems strangely distant.

Another week of digging and it’s over. Well, maybe not yet, still some cleaning, putting up signs, taking inventory. But deep down, I know these are the last few. I’m a little afraid of the day when I won’t have anything to come here for.