With minimal clue of where the hills are, we followed the shadow of an overhead highway. A big sturdy Labrador trotted by near a row of rich red bushes. I tailed the dog. When in doubt, always follow someone with a better sense of smell. The dog brought us to a main road. Following the road we were in the town of Nußdorf. A tram line ran along the center of the road. We hopped on a took it to its extreme too. Jumping off, we tagged behind some locals and entered a middle/upper class residential suburb. The roads were now sloping gently upward.
An old lady made a right turn beside a small cemetery. It had very high stone walls. Through its narrow metal gates up a small flight of stairs and at the center of the hallowed ground, a high cross stood. The cool shadows were not tall enough to touch the golden Christ-figure glimmering in the sun. The plots were neat and the grass well kept. If it appeared slightly crowded, it felt just as sweet with fresh resplendent flowers and few smartly dressed young adults conserving by a grave.
Past the cemetery, we arrived at last at the destination we did not know how to find. Endless vineyard stretches before us. A couple jogged behind us with their hyperactive and petite dog. The sky was still absolutely perfect and the afternoon sun cast a tangerine sheen wherever its radiance could reach.
We began to ascend slowly, peeling off our heavy jackets as we go. Each step we took revealed more vineyard before us. Behind us, the higher we ascend, the further we gaze.
With Christmas in less than a month, the growing season has long since past. Most branches were barren, but some retained their jeweled clusters. Each grape was the size of dried raisin in the supermarkets.
Striding between these winter weeds reminded me of grand Savanna grasslands (on a miniature scale).
We climbed higher still, till our feet left the soft soil for the paved lane near the highest crest of the current hill. A sea of undulating vineyard greeted our eyes in every direction.
Two buildings, one modern the other old, crowned the neighboring hills.
A queue of swan white wind turbine doted the horizon in the distance.
A few bare trees swayed gently in the afternoon wind. The moon was visible all along.
With each passing second, the sun sank lower. Deep long shadows draped over the landscape. As if in anticipation of its eventual demise, the sun let lose its full glory, piercing all creation with its blinding white arrows.
We pressed on, lugging lanky black giants behind our heels. Advancing beyond the peak of the current hill and a venerable winery, we came at last to the boundary of Wien.
After taking deep breathes, we crossed the line - we stepped out of Wien. The pinnacles of neighboring hills seemed within reach. We hiked a little further along this road.
By now, many people were already starting to turn the opposite direction, some on foot and others of wheels. With the day almost spent, we too turned back.
Before long, the sun caressed the distant mountains on the horizon. They kissed, embraced and became one.
The vineyard vegetation sent the day off in style.
A day has ended. The reign of the moon and stars begun.
Down the hill we strode, chasing ever fading light. Prussian blue shadow engulfed the land as a murder of crows flocked from a huge gnarly trees by the narrow road. The way down hill twisted and turned. Some bends revealed breathtaking vistas while others were shrouded foreboding in the dark. Many wooden gates were closed but the pink rim on the soft eastern sky set our course.
Looking westward, the land that swallowed the sun was roasted black.
Before the streetlights were lit, we saw big houses again. From the vineyard, we chanced upon an upper-class estate. It was an utter architectural feast for the eyes. Every house was built very differently form the one beside, yet none was less impressive then the rest. Many houses already had their Christmas decorations up. The festive items were just as individual as the houses.
By the time we arrived where we began, at the U4 terminal after a short tramp ride, the sky blushed in rich lavender.
Back in the Pompidou I once wrestled with the idea of why should we be looking at Picasso in dimly lit tempreture controlled halls, when the greater brush was painting outside anew and most extravagantly? As magnificent as the works of any geniuses among men (even including the TMNT's namesake), can they really be compared to the treasures and miracles outside the gallery walls? Is not what we call art an interpretation of life?A detour following a dog has kept me from the the galleries and museums of Vienna. But I was content for I have seen something better - blessed be the name of the Artist who spared no effort to lavish the endless hues of the evening skies upon the dust and ashes who appreciated such brilliant beauty so little and so rarely.
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