The Grapes of Glory

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Sea born mist hangs low, one can almost smell November in the vineyards. The grape leaves curl in fall colors and the sun has no warmth anymore, only last year’s vintage to shake the chill. Summer’s essence is held in a glass. Earths vocation and fruit lay sweetly in a bottle. You can still feel the summer’s Mediterranean sun in the bouquet of last year’s wine. This familiar scent of earth, water, and grapes is the scent of home.

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The Fertile Land

post 101/365

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The fresh flowers blooming in the spring sway with the grass to the rhythm of the wind. All of this happens so fast, so quickly, no one notices. Here in the valley, lost in their labors, people work this fertile land, alike so open and welcoming, they are. The many vineyards of this valley are like a necklace that adorns her. The sun sits above her at daytime as the stars open up at nighttime. The motionless hills that surround her are like hips altered with age.

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