The girl with her blond hair in a French braid carrying a satchel of schoolwork.
The man who holds the Stop and Slow sign (easily reversed) for the road crew on the hilly stretch of the curvaceous back road; now stopped himself for half an hour to stand in the oak shade and eat a taco scented with cumin, oregano.
The Hawaiian worker clearing spring weeds in the private vineyard where they’ve planted sixteen rows of Cabernet Sauvignon.
One of the three friends walking with an old golden retriever, like something out of an Anne Tyler novel only not in Baltimore.
Or myself, maybe. Stirring the cinnamon and kalamata olives into my Greek stew, my hands smelling of chopped garlic and the pink roses I’ve just settled into a pitcher.
image: Bread and Puppet Theatre