I don’t think I would have ever discovered this winebar, had I not been led to it, through the labyrinthine streets of Arlington, by, who is the originator of what I have to call a noetic zymurgy. I followed through the avenues, and into a restaurant. I don’t recall which one, but I ducked inside, and we both decided to drink a flight of wine.
Outside was a waterfall. There was a small bench in front, where water was lightly crashing, and through its motion, performing some kind of distinct mesmerism around me, and meanwhile the sunlight seemed to vanish from the corners of plaza. I distinctly recall that the air seemed to be filled with a subtle violet in the semi-darkness. Strangers strolled around us.
It was a short walk down twisting boulevards, past plate glass windows to the winebar.
Outside the establishment was a iron table, which held our bottles well. A bottle of cabernet savingnon seemed highly apropos for this night — a welcome companion to‘s sparkling conversation wherein she elucidated her latest theories on viticulture. I now have no doubt as to the veracity of her convictions in this area.
So, overall, a good winebar with nice ambiance.