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Zinfandel

Keuka Lake, Finger Lakes, NY. Opening line: The sky was the color of Zinfandel. I had a bit of despair seeing the overcast sky as drove the road above the lake to this little spot overlooking the vineyards. But there was still a gap to the east, and I hoped it wouldn't close before sunrise. When the sky began lighting up, I the underside of the storm creeping eastward was lit with ared/purple glow that was unearthly. Even the autumn tinted grape vines glowed with the reflection from above and ahead. Strangely, the sky moved quickly but the wind was still at ground level, and the scene unfolded eerily before me. The sun breached the treeline and became too bright for shooting, and I watched awhile, then ran as the first rain started falling. I don't know what kind of wine the rows in front of me produced, but if I wanted a drink this morning, it would have been Zinfandel.

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Zinfandel_RP1120810_.Jpg
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©Ray Palmer no usage without written permissions
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Keuka Lake, Finger Lakes, NY. Opening line: The sky was the color of Zinfandel. I had a bit of despair seeing the overcast sky as drove the road above the lake to this little spot overlooking the vineyards. But there was still a gap to the east, and I hoped it wouldn't close before sunrise. When the sky began lighting up, I the underside of the storm creeping eastward was lit with ared/purple glow that was unearthly. Even the autumn tinted grape vines glowed with the reflection from above and ahead. Strangely, the sky moved quickly but the wind was still at ground level, and the scene unfolded eerily before me. The sun breached the treeline and became too bright for shooting, and I watched awhile, then ran as the first rain started falling. I don't know what kind of wine the rows in front of me produced, but if I wanted a drink this morning, it would have been Zinfandel.
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