Harvest days

September arrives slowly and then, suddenly, everyone is out in the vineyard.

It starts early, while the valley is still cool and the rows are wet with dew. Some cut, some carry, someone brings coffee. Nobody talks much at first. Later, everyone talks about everything.

At midday we break bread in the shade. Hands turn sticky, baskets fill up, and there is always someone tasting one more grape just to confirm what we already know.

By the afternoon the smell changes. It is the press, the must, the year moving into the cellar. No one needs to explain why we come back every September.