Monday, October 19, 2009
We march down rows, cut and drop, push and lift, dump and run. Friday night, lit by headlights from a 4 X 4 long- the blood-orange sun had dropped behind distant hills. Coyotes were howling as we crushed the purple berries. Tearing them down and rebuilding them into something bold, firm. Melding, leaning away their sweetness, uncovering their backbone. This is masculine stuff, this cabernet.