Sure, at the end of September, Long Island is cold, damp, and windy. The sky threatened rain with a billowy gray cover, wrapping us in a woolen blanket, cool as though pulled from its winter attic storage. But the orchards were green and plentiful, and this peak harvest time proved to be fruitful with white, blush, rose, and red.
It was too windy to light a candle on my birthday loaf, but we didn't care. We were sipping wine on the back patio on a bright day, watching green grapes being trucked in and savoring every moment before we had to return to the city.
The day was capped off with dinner with friends back in the city, and I was home sometime after midnight, cheeks hurting, eyes swirling, lids drooping, and heart loving.
It was a good day. Maybe, for once, it will be a good year.
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