The Wine Maker

April 21, 2008

The handicap lift platform was making percussion to the tempo of the bus’s spinning wheels. Around me were travelers of all types. There were business men, women on their way to visit their grandkids and separated lovers making their way to embrace their significant other. As I looked through their eyes, I could tell their thoughts were on the task at hand. They thought to themselves “Do I have my photo ID?”, “Did I bring any liquids that are over 3 ounces?” ,  and so on. I felt myself sinking into that same thought process as it’s natural when you are about to enter a building as intimidating as the Denver International Airport.


Then, my eyes shifted to the driver perched in his bouncing seat. His shirt had minute balls of cloth that had gathered from rubbing against the bus’s fabric daily. His mouth was weathered from cigarettes and time. Despite being responsible for all of the passenger’s lives, I could tell his thoughts where in another place. While the minds of the bus were filled with useless thoughts, his was at its brim with imagination. Maybe he was thinking about his daughter taking her first steps, or how he felt when he finally gathered up the courage to grab his future wife’s hand. As he bobbed up and down in his seat, I couldn’t help but get taken up in the beauty of this calloused man’s mind. For all I know, he was thinking about what was for dinner. To me, he was a free-soul, gathering grapes in this vineyard we call life.



  1. Nicely written Josh. I felt what I think you were feeling as I read it.

  2. thanks jonas

  3. Loved it! You paint great pictures with your words. Awesome writer.

  4. Aww, thanks shelley. I would like to take classes some day, but I think in way it might stiffle some of my creativity. I don’t know, we shall see.

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