Conca d’Oro (Golden Bowl)

Tuscany Vineyard by DC Lessoway









Sol wakens, rises
creeps across Tuscan hills
brims Pizano’s ridge, a freshet of
hazed, flaxen hue, illuminating
path, vine and olive branch

footfall’s break ushers
a whispered breeze
approaching crickets
drone of bees, flies
shrill echoes of waking starlings

a sip of water flushes
dust of the trail, but brings
clarity to an ardent tang
emanating from fluttering
branch and vine alike

at the pregnant bunch
weighing the clustered burden
wiping dust from a singular
grape, revealing a silky
glossy dermal in regal hue

fades a chill of morning shade
salty beads form and run
nocturnal hares search out
shadowed vines
sleep off the days heat

dawdling my cranium, a notion
panders to a willful escapism
this setting, this local, this heaven
of wine, olive oil, hilltop citadel
home, hearth, and heart will reside

photo and poem © 2015 by DC Lessoway

Posted in: poetry, Travel

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