This is wine country. Sesquicentennial vinyards, row on glistening row of grape and ancient trestle, and the emerald river cleave to granite-verdant Alps and beyond to clouds a hundred whites which drift in azure infinity, shifting nigh imperceptibly in stratospheric breezes. But parallax' twisting deceives the eye, and the thin grey muck of a dozen nations distorts focus and stands as still as the sky on double-paned protective glass.
3 June 2007
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