I had forgotten about an older life. My older sun-filled contemplative life (of just a few years ago), sitting on the floor, looking out of Brooklyn windows. From breezy tree-tops, long shadows and frilled sun patterns crept slowly up and over windowsills. Most of my weathered, chip-painted sills were perfect perches for gold-flecked, sun-prism wine glasses. I watched my city through panes of cracked glass.
http://dinerjournal.com/category/wine/
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