flurries on the riverbank | still red wine

grenache

i grew up in minnesota, and consider outdoor activities in the dead of winter commonplace, no matter how low the temperature. during winter years ago, i recall standing on the side of the mississippi river, marveling at the power of the current and watching flurries begin to fall as a storm rolled in. if i close my eyes, i can still recall the smell in the air with near perfect clarity: it was bone cold, numbing, and refreshing at the same time, almost like i was in a field of juniper. somewhere off in the distance there was a wood fire and a home cooked meal being prepared, layers of smoke and herbed roasted meat wafting towards me. 

during harvest you can’t help but feel like there is a storm brewing off in the distance, like something mildly stressful is just around the corner. no matter how many you’ve been through, it’s undoubtedly a mildly stressful experience. if you take a deep breath and look around, you can generally keep your cool amidst strong currents that threaten to pull you under. as if you are standing on the side of a river, watching flurries begin to fall. 

2023 - made for amy lange and catherine bryson