Okanogan

Heat and pink gravel roads
Striped terraces of verdant green
Dreaming away lazy sun-drenched hours;
And patient old Punjabi women
At the counter of their make-shift fruit stalls
Sweat - a dark triangle between their breasts-
Eyes trailing the distant unfamiliar ridges.
Vines, overburdened, lean on the shiny steel strings;
Grapes in tart heavy clusters
Peek timidly from the whispering shade;
Erratic gusts
Bring in the smell
Of a myriad roses
Of lavender
Sage
And ripe, juicy peaches
In the dust
On the side of the wine country