There’s a blush on the horizon,
Colours run free.
The darkness is bleached,
She bares the world before me.
I stand among an army,
A maze of leaves and canes.
Strength courses in these vines,
Like the blood within my veins.
Cushioned by soft hills,
A view stretched to the shore.
Branches sway to the southern breeze,
A vineyard on the dance floor.
Guarded by native forest,
Armoured by emerald leaves,
The timid berry clusters,
Protected from hungry thieves.
Through vivid, parching heat,
Under merciless open sky.
Summer cannot conquer them,
The grapes refuse to die.
Like tiny supple gems,
They bejewel the ancient vines.
Swiftly we harvest the fruit,
Like diggers in the mines.
See the jagged leaves pale,
I watch the colours drain.
Autumn paints a picture,
That will wash off in the rain.
Tears spill from the clouds,
Leaves fall, not a sound.
The vines cry with relief,
I listen closely, spellbound.
Temperatures plummet,
Canes are cut away,
Only skeletons remain,
A museum in the grey.
A filmy curtain of mist,
Glimmers in the sun.
Light flickers among the clouds,
Winter’s spell undone.
The vineyard beings to blossom,
Luscious leaves unfold.
Luminous in the moonlight,
Iridescent in mornings cold.
My heart is tethered here,
Woven in each vine.
My memories will always walk,
In the passageways of time.
By Indi Noon, published in our newsletter, 2020.