July has ended, and thirty-one bottles of dandelion wine have been made. Douglas, remembering his recent string of losses of friends and machines, wonders why each bottle looks identical and not representative of the day it was made on. He says out loud that August will be tedious and uneventful, to which his grandfather attempts to remedy his melancholy with a swig of dandelion wine and some ordered exercises.
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Published by Jimmie Kepler
Jimmie Kepler is a full-time writer.
He was born in San Antonio, Texas, to a career military father and stay at home mother. He lived in six states and attended eight different schools before graduating high school. He has earned a Bachelor of Arts, Master of Religious Education, Master of Arts, and the Doctor of Education degrees.
Before writing full-time, he worked as a US Army officer for 8-years, religious educator for 18-years, and as an IT software engineer for over 20-years. He is a widower. He lives in North Texas with his cat Lacey.
View all posts by Jimmie Kepler
July has ended, and thirty-one bottles of dandelion wine have been made. Douglas, remembering his recent string of losses of friends and machines, wonders why each bottle looks identical and not representative of the day it was made on. He says out loud that August will be tedious and uneventful, to which his grandfather attempts to remedy his melancholy with a swig of dandelion wine and some ordered exercises.