Into the Vineyard
Janine Canan
The white pup hopped into the car, and the older dog paused as Justine lifted her hind legs. Then she too climbed in and backed out of the driveway. The light was already fading, as she accelerated toward the plaza. At the corner her eye gravitated toward a woman in magenta tights dancing with two friends in the street--to the thumping rock-band that blared from the historic stone hall. Gigantic clusters of red balloons rose into the evening sky. Groups of townspeople seated on the grass sipped wine after their picnic dinners. Above them softly flapped the bear flag of the renegade Republic of California.
Ah, the carnival of life, Justine sighed inwardly, as her car purred on, full of its purpose. Turning left on Fourth Street, it headed toward the hills, and took another left onto Ravenswood. The narrowing road curved through a dense bower of large bay trees, that overwhelmed her with their powerful cleansing scent. Beyond them rose the terraces. She pulled up sharply under an old scrub oak.
The sun was already behind the hills. Justine and the dogs made their way quickly, past the dark red roses--bending over, she kissed their perfumy lips--onto a rocky road that had been plowed through the vineyard. Row after row of lush leafy twisting vines with small green grapes passed them, as the woman and her dogs mounted the beautifully terraced hills. For a moment Justine stopped, looking upward. The rim of the hills glowed a soft deep blue, back-lit by the invisible sun. Over the hills hovered a white sickle, cupping a black velvet ball. Beyond, Venus twinkled merrily. And beyond Her--the vastly scattered stars. Music drifted down from somewhere--likely one of the remote homes wedged into the darkening hill.
The air was cooling off. Justine wore a cotton sweater that still made her feel too warm. Carefully in the dimming light, she stepped over the rocky deep-red earth. The wolf-dogs followed, the younger racing joyfully ahead and returning anxiously, uncertain of Justine's direction; the older arthritic dog wobbling forward with experienced enthusiasm. Beyond the vines, the rolling hills were cloaked in gnarled live oaks, that were rapidly transforming into black masses. Her gaze rested on a mysterious single light atop the highest hill.
In the growing dark Justine walked on, unable to see, yet one with the earthy road, thickly caked with the Mother's blood. As she moved she became the blood, all the blood that had ever flowed, and was flowing inside her full-bodied now. Entering the hills, she rose into a golden green light that merged into the sun, the fire of Creation, the ultimate energy, the shakti. Then she fell, slowly, back into the moonlit night where a million stars shimmied, everything radiant with its own fire, everything basking in epiphany.
She felt her own glow warming the night, as she walked on.
