Strolling on a lazy afternoon
I passed the local grape-crushing site
My senses felt the smell as an invite
I couldn’t resist the call and went inside
Eager to see familiar sights
I looked all over, but I saw none
The vats, the press, grape skins littering the paths,
They were all gone
Walking around devoid of any intent
Still in a daze, on rustic floor made of cement
I heard new machines crushing grapes
Watched juice flowing through new plastic pipes
I fled that place that memories revived
But like grapes had left them crushed and dry
I wandered for a while, sat on a bench,
My mind flashed photos of a life gone by
As I looked down the sloping, terraced land
Leading to the river bed around the bend
I saw the images of long-skirted maids
Cutting grape bunches from the vines
Filling baskets made of willow twigs
Donkeys trudging through old narrow trails
Laden with grapes to become new wine
A boy was leading them holding the reins
I saw my face when I was barely nine
I saw grapes unloaded into vats
Stained by time and by human wear
Barefoot men and children hand in hand
Dancing on a mound of oozing grapes
Naked, sweating torsos turning a press
Pushing a wooden pole, showing prowess
Some men filled goatskins with sweet juice
Others loaded goatskins on their back
Women walked as dancing ballerinas
Carrying loaded pots on their bare heads
Nostrils brought to mind the pungent smell
Never forgotten and preserved well
Of the grape skins discarded by the side
Forming a hill on which kids would slide
My ears were quick to join the recollection
Remembering the tunes of ancient lore
That female pickers sang as an encore
Awakened by a car that just drove by
I turned around, for home I made my way
This time I chose a trail where few would pass
In ancient times was trod by mule and ass
I saw abandoned shacks still standing tall
Fields of bamboo by thorny scrub embraced
Where green had reigned supreme
An old fig tree extended its long arms
Offering its ripe fruit as an invite
I took a fig and ate all in one bite