Paused for the picking
The silent vines stand in rows
Golden leaves around their skirts
Masking rich clusters, like small children
Hiding from the pickers
The picking team waits
Glowing in fluorescent colours
Bins at the shoulder-arms
Trucks at the ready
For it is harvest in the morning
Grapes by the ton, ready to flow
Their rich juices into gleaming towers
Table-destined in two years or more
With a label, a screw-cap
And a soft glow on a thousand palates
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Wish I was there to see this, you've described it so well. I've been seeing ripe grapes in the North Island, also ready to be picked. Home now in Wamberal, the past four weeks were filled with wonderful experiences that fill my thoughts.
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