The vine is an academic.
It provides a translation between dry dusty
geography and mouthful flavour.
Soil, stones and slopes become
lush fruit flavors, plump and fleshy.
Sharp minerals, bonded for time with the earth
are released in a heady aromatic nose.
The vine is an historian. Feet rooted in the dust of ages
watching the march of armies across changing borders
in soil sharp with the salt-tang of spilt blood and youth spent.
The vine is an old fashioned explorer.
Marching up unfamiliar mountains overlooking different seas.
Showing resilience and bravery by besting pests and punishing winds
and sleeping under soperific blankets of sweetening mists
The vine is an inspirational linguist,
swirling words around the mouth,
tongue-teased by malvasia, rondinella, sciacarello,
Cheeks sucked in and gums dried by zweigelt, rotgipfler, krstač.
and of course, Gewertztraminer....
I reckon the damn vine payed more attention at school than I did.