an almighty roar!

the arteries of the vineyards

Best not to blink
If you wish to catch
The slightest breeze
With the shallowest of breaths.

These minuscule wriggles
In the grass tips
Are just forgotten leftovers
Of a heavenly cool night tipple.

The generous but brief stroke of wind
Is not here to stay,
It was nothing but a tease,
Just one for the road.

It's true,
The heat is building slowly this morning at least.
The clouds are holding back the sun
Giving us a breather.
But a cool wind is wishful thinking,
It is a meagre suggestion,
A defeated hesitation
Leaving on the wings of dawn.

I see the vines today are stretched to full yoga pose.
The grapes are becoming more than just pips
But there’s still plenty of work to be done.

Sitting here in an oasis
My own minutes long sanctuary of calm,
You would be forgiven
For assuming
That nothing is being done.
The truth is
These acres are slaving to the grape.

If you could hear the effort
In the earth
Travelling up through their roots,
Along their branchettes-come-ratchets 
I swear 
There would be a god almighty roar!
A sound so loud
I find myself wondering
How it can fit inside its own skin.

This lion sea of green
Is an engine room
To magic the grape, 
Into mouth watering treats,
To pair wonders for the chef,
That turn, modestly,
Into wine to dine for...

The thing is,
That on this land
Turned over and over again
Come rain and shine,
Man's constant toil and tussle,
All year round
Shrinks
In the eye of the truth.
I can see
That the real muscle
Is in the stem,
The wizened trunk,
Its shredding bark,
The birth of its roots,
The dusted precious earth itself.
The real muscle
One could easily argue
Is even, in the rain.

young grapes just a bit more than pips

A lion sea of green Piccies by Pipp

…. you made my day reading this! Thank you.