The Road Between Two Vineyards

A sign at the bridge said PAINTING and pointed the evening bus toward the old vineyard road. Nobody complained. There were five passengers, and all of them had taken this road before.

The bus climbed between low stone walls. Vines made dark, orderly lines on both sides, following the shape of the land more faithfully than any road could.

At the first vineyard, the driver slowed for a dog sleeping near the gate. At the second, a woman in a blue coat stepped off with a paper bag and lifted one hand before walking toward the farmhouse.

The detour added twelve minutes. By the time the bus returned to the main road, the sky had lost its last color and the windows had become mirrors. The remaining passengers sat quietly beside their reflections, carrying the extra road home with them.