I need to go to Jerez de la Frontera to visit some Bodegas and to see the fields of vines, feel the sun on my skin and screw up my eyes at the glare off the dry soil. Taste the sherry. Hear the language. See if the town really is divided between the right and left. Walk the streets. Look up at the buildings. Go to a Sunday service in a catholic church in Spain. Hold the rosary beads. I can hold my father's.
And time. I want, no need, to take the time.
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