In their rearview mirror, the vineyard remained a pyre for the hopes and aspirations they had the guts to create.
Lila stood on a mountaintop three hours away, staring up at the orange sky as the smoke spiraled into it like accusatory fingers pointing upwards. Blackened skeletons now adorned the ancient olive trees that had endured generations of battles. The bright rooms of the farmhouse where they had made love were now nothing more than a shell, with the windows blown out like empty eyes. What they had created as a community—a place of peace and safety—was now nothing more than charred rubble and toxic ash.
Although unfinished. Still there. Remains in existence and significance.
Even from this distance, the evening air carried the sharp aroma of devastation, blended with the fresh
