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,

Tuscany actually.

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.