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The vats have waited out the long months and ring empty,

and then at the end of September they are filled, they welcome a blond and bountiful juice. In a long string of bubbles, sugar makes rooms for alcohol in the dimly lit tranquillity of my chai. I tasted them patiently, watching their transparency form, bright and clear. Gold borne by the soil, these pure flavours, one by one, are set free, filling the mouth with acacia flowers, fresh citrus and that straightforwardness, that tight-rope balance I had hoped for, desired. Now comes sharing, thoughtful and joyous. Glasses meet, glances are exchanged and the lively sound of conversations fill the room.