I was out walking around Ghielmetti Vineyard today, and it was just about perfect...75 degrees, just a gentle houghing of a breeze coming from the Bay, the new, green canes knocking innocently against the trellis wires. The sun felt nice on my shoulders; the hares - like lampposts - signaled my way before bounding off between the rows, and the vultures wheeled above me. It all felt new, just like it does every year at this time.
Bloom is over, and the incipient bunches sport little BBs of green. Anthropomorphically, these little balls are our future. Whatever is to come from this year's harvest, whatever memorable vintage, whatever potential greatness will come from these grapes-in-waiting.
All is promise now. And it is good.
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