With a bit of apprehension, we head
toward the large town square.
She knows this area like the back of her
thin skinned hand and most of the terrain
in this central part of Italy,
I’m not worried about her not feeling at home, the
concern is that she might pair up with some
of her local buddies, the “Super Tuscans”
they call themselves, and I might feel
a bit left out.
But she does deserve a night out with friends. She works
hard and is so widely scattered at times that she
needs time to relax in this late Summer Sun.
Years ago, I met up with her in the 80’s in California,
in Geyserville, and I had the hardest time
pronouncing her Italian name, Sangiovese.
She explained her name came from Roman times,
meaning God of Jupiter, and that it was
quite common back then. Even now it is
spread all throughout Italy.
I am apprehensive because she is so adaptable,
but only up to a point. If you take a look
at her makeup, she is quite delicate, and
sensitive to where she likes to live.
Too much damp cold is not great for her. She prefers
to linger late in sun and loves to put her
feet in clay and sandstone.
Yes, she is not spoilt. She can hang out with almost
anybody, and is not fussy about what she eats,
but I wish she would be less vigorous, slow down,
and not be taken for granted.
She does so much for everyone that even if she was cloned
to the hilt, it would not make a difference reducing
her workload, I think.
Later that evening, I lift her down from dancing on an oak
barrel and ask her if she remembers where those
old Roman Caves are located.
She looks at me suspiciously, but I know it is in suggestive
humor. I call her my cherry plum tart, kiss hypnotic
ruby lips, and swirl her around in the warm evening air.