Sweet dark grapes.
The time is coming. The grape harvest time. Summer is almost gone. My brother’s birthday is near. Every year the same. Always a Sunday, by the end of September. Every year all the family and friends gathered in my uncle’s villa, for the grape harvest. He had a small vineyard. About thirty or forty people could do almost all the harvest in only one day.
My aunt and my mum in the kitchen, preparing a great lunch for everyone. My grandmother sitting down the sunlight. My brother and me, just two children, helping the others with the harvest. Some other children we knew. Some other children we saw only that day every year. Running up and down with baskets full of grapes. Eating secretly some of the dark treasures we were carrying.
I remember the laugh. Everybody looked happy. Lunch time was the best. I still see the grapes on the table. Bread, cheese, tomatoes, lots of meat, and laugh.
I was so sad when my uncle decided to get rid of the vineyard. How many years have past? I can’t remember. He felt too old and too tired to take care of the vineyard and my cousins didn’t seem to be very interested in it.
I don’t miss my land. I don’t even know if I miss my family. But somehow I miss my childhood. I miss those days when everything was perfect, and happy, and there was nothing to worry about.
I suppose that’s the problem of having a happy childhood. The world you find later on is a bit different…
