The rain pelts against the windscreen of our car as we furiously struggle to gain clear vision of the highway. Cars are zooming by and the wind is strong. The wipers are at full speed. The land is vast and the fog lingers ever so prominently. I gaze silently through the blurry glass and attempt to take it all in — the rain, the animals scattered across the fields, the perfectly cut greens, the mountains hidden behind thick layers of fog, the low-hanging clouds, the crisp air that cuts through the gloom. All of it.
These three hour road trips work wonders — feeling my lungs expand as I breathe in the rural air and immerse myself in everything and nothing at all. I’m staring at a sea of grapevines, a tsunami of greens reaching out from a distance. The land is vast like the ocean, the land and sky melt into one, almost impossible for eyes to fathom this varsity with a thick blanket of fog hanging loosely over the picturesque landscape. I haven’t left the place yet and I’m already planning my next return. I bottle all the senses and cling onto it until I come back.