We read a poem: Swineherd: (Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin) When all this is over, said the swineherd, I mean to retire, where Nobody will have heard about my...
Saturday, 20 October 2012
Autumn in the vineyards
As soon as the grapes are picked, each vine sends a message out that kills off its leaves, turning them russet in a matter of a few days. The clay soil of Tierra de Barros is covered by row after endless rolling row of these vines right now, all combined with dusks that turn a more purple hue with every night that passes. On such evenings I love heading out to the mountains and looking down on the vineyards, on the shades of gorgeous autumn. New England, eat your heart out!