Grapes In My Past

On By Mother WintermoonIn falling word fragments, Sacred soulsongs

There were grapes in my past
Fragrant vineyards
Crates of purple velvet
Pickers spinning yarns
Beneath the white hot sun

There were grapes in my past
A vigneron singing
Ardent planting and harvesting
A legacy of pleasure and pain
Connecting my ancestors 
To the nectar of the God
Bringing abundance
Fertility
Transformation
Good luck

There were fields in my past
Fertile soil
Alive with potential
Bountiful and hand-picked
Dust and grain
Olive skin
Stones with memories among the rows
Day after day
Plowing the fields
Sun-drunk and callused
Scythes swinging
Servitude by season
Benevolent harvest
God is in the dirt
Destined from birth
Closer to heaven
Through the earth

© 2021

18 thoughts on “Grapes In My Past”

  2. Beautiful poem dear MW…. And yes God is in the dirt, our Mother Earth. No better connection than grounding oneself within the earth …
    Many thanks for you visit… I have been absent I know for such a long long time… July my last post… You could say I was grounding, releasing, learning and growing all at once….
    Time holding no meaning in the Now of experience…
    Good to reconnect with you again MW….
    Sending Hugs and well wishes my friend ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
    1. Mother Wintermoon

      Thank you, sweet Sue. So good to see you here again…. Much love and holiday blessings to you!
      🙏❤️🙏

      Like

      Reply

  5. Ooh, I’ve had those. I used to work in a vineyard and could tell the taste of a grape from a thousand yards. Alas, they wouldn’t let me do the same by taste testing the wine 🤣
    Lovely poem dear lady, thank you for letting us taste that 😀 ❤️ 🙏🏽 🦋

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
    1. Mother Wintermoon

      Hi Mark! Thank you for the comment and sharing your story. 🥰 How long did you work in a vineyard? Would love to hear more about it.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

      1. Only a couple of seasons and it was a beautiful place…but…up to 40C in the summer and -4C in the winter. Well, I knew I was alive anyway 🤣 Pruning, picking (which I add was only done by hand back then), fencing and while doing all this the crop duster would drop fertilizer all over us as it flew over. Some of the much older hands had burns on their skin from it. And there was one tiny patch of grapes that grew on this odd mix of soil, like a red clay and sandstone came together and grew the most amazing white grape. No one was allowed near it as it won heaps of awards from this tiny couple of acres. I was really old back then too, about 16 I think 😀 ❤️ 🙏🏽 🦋 😂 🤣

        Liked by 1 person

        Reply

Your thoughts are a blessing to read and receive. 🙏🏼

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.