Ripened, sun drenched grapes sag on full vines above my head. Hundreds more pepper the ground, burst open with juices running into the soil.

Their perfume conveys so much sweetness I stop to savor breath after deep breath. This could be what people mean when they speak of drinking something in when they don’t actually mean drinking. That smell. Fresher, more lush and grapey than I imagine grapes can smell.

It is early afternoon on the first day of fall and I stand under the grape arbor near the estate pool on campus. This area is home to some of the best scenery on what is regarded as one of the most scenic campuses in the nation. I come here all the time and I always try to take in the landscape on my walks to and from the outdoor pool.

Most days it still feels a little like work. That’s probably the work talking. I know that the turnaround point on my out-and-back stroll is a small, loud room with pump, filter, chlorinator, chemicals, valves, and a little mesh basket filled with wet hair and fir needles, gum, and the occasional hair band, nickel, or lost Band-Aid.

That distracts me for starters. And the fact that we can become accustomed to beauty. It can take something particularly arresting to jostle us back out of the complacency and preoccupations of life.

Today those somethings are grapes. The arbor’s vines hang ten feet in the air dry and bare much of the year before bursting forth with green shoots and then bright fruits.

It’s the time of year that people sometimes relocate the picnic tables to the patio beneath the arbor so they can stand atop the table and reach the grapes. Last time this happened, I used the same table to climb up and sample the crop.

They don’t taste as good as they smell, but the juice is still delicious.

On a warm September afternoon I can lose myself—just for a moment—in the aroma and beauty. This arbor is as good a platform as any from which to step into the world of pool pumps, chlorine, and tangles of wet hair.

A better platform than most because when I emerge from the dark bath house the grapes will be here, dangling above and strewn below, split and radiating their sweet smell on a warm breeze.

And I will let them overtake me again.