Oh, all right; I guess you could say I’m a romantic.
Writing romance stories, however is not my forte; rather I’m apt to add a romantic interlude between a couple here and there, but the over all feel of my pieces only tend to lean across the table and touch your hand.
That table, however, will undoubtedly be laden with a Mediterranean feast of vegetables, olives and the all important wine. This, to me, is the essence of romance… relaxing time together with the ones I love.
Colour me old-fashioned if you must, but my definition of romance hardly gets out of the sensuality bag. If and or when togetherness becomes sexual, the relationship is doomed to some kind of end. Either the passion peter’s out or the marriage becomes comfortable; either way the electricity of anticipation and mutual magnetic desire to seduce each other becomes diminished.
That’s why the wine is so all-important.
To my mind, wine and this tenuous attraction are the closest things to magic I have experienced in this world. The magic of someone’s attention can make us feel beautiful. We are beautiful! When we feel that kind of good, we are in that state of grace they talk about in Regencies. 
But the wine helps…
In fact, it works so well, one might not even need the partner! Somehow Mother Nature has created a love potion – a liquid lesson in appreciation. After a sip or two of a rich Burgundy, any moon is shockingly gorgeous, the flowering tree is a marvel and the birds are speaking a language we can almost understand.
If you doubt me, just try stargazing with a grape soda or an energy drink and see how magical that is. Sure, if you’re paying attention it will be interesting, but the romance is missing.
There’s that word again.
Hey, I have an idea; let’s go pour a glass of pinot and I’ll show you what I mean.
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