the sun is low, the air has chilled

we take our books and empty glasses and go inside . . . 

interior space

it could be a cathedral   sanctified   holy

stone and beams

aged   like whiskey   to a smokey hue

a heavy room

a man's room   colin's grandmother lost that battle

but upstairs

in the bedrooms

she won

with the long view over hills of live oaks 

over the hills and rows of vines

rows of vines and tractors and workers and quiet sunsets

and at night   an invitation

to find something within oneself   quietude perhaps

~

but quietude is just one thing

there is so much more

colin's grandmother chose what was practical

and it proved to be

blankets and curtains and bedding she bought years ago

seem as fresh to my eyes

as they must have been to hers forty or fifty years ago

and warm   

the weight of wool can make a difference   and does

the colors she chose are light 

soft and . . . cafe au lait

with the curtains tied back as they are now

moonlight coming in

it is inviting   and we are the guests of honor

`