Sunny afternoons and shaded leaves reveal it: the perfect one, the symbol of a most delicious autumn.
The man feels the warmth of the beads, gently picks one and tastes it.
It’s a purple explosion of sweet juice in which he can count the rays of sun that created it, the drops of rain that made it so plumped up.
Yes, now the harvest can begin.
Enjoying these simple things in life he will not allow strangers to harvest the goodness: just as he grew them up, he will take care of each vine.
He does the math, and realizes, that if starting next morning, just at the sunset, by the sunset the barrels will moan.
The same night he studies if the skies agree his plan- no rain to fall would be very handy.
Went sleeping imagining the final result , a wonderful fresh potion.
Waking up, a rich coffee, for a burst of energy, and it begins.
What stories will tell the aroma of this year’s wine?