in praise of veraison

in praise of veraison

each year we wait for we must
or we do because they say we do
full and plump hanging heavy to ripen
the sun prepares to turn water into wine.

while we wait as berries change color
at a medieval festival we celebrate.
of all the caring and all the turning
it is yearly veraison that determines.

inside each grape a busy process,
to yield my nightly two glasses.
water flows as the sugar grows,
the fruity aromas bring every nose.

many palettes have many words,
but natures does as nature does.
comet may cast a shadow for one
but every year comes earth’s sun.

the riper the grape the better the wine.
the best we taste is the best we can find.
many color changes before my time,
another year’s miracle turns water to wine.

as this year turns i head to the cellar
why should we not save the best for last. 
the coming maturity gives me young legs fast,
i drink a drink and toast a toast to the blood collector.

a toast to veraison with the pop the cork
peering through the green bottle
here’s to blood on the vine
the miracle that turns water into wine.

under the umbrella the best seat above the valley,
i watch the fields turn the color of this years harvest.
time lapses slowly not to hasten riches waiting to impress.
from the dirt and toil i praise the glory of veraison.