The grapes have been teasing me for days. As I pass by the rows on my way to feed llamas in the morning, there they hang at hand height, and eye elevation, rich in hue if not yet ready in flavor. Finally it occurred to me that if I wait until they are ripe to make their portrait, they will have lost their moment of beauty. It’s a fair exchange, aspect for savor. These are pinot wine grapes, and the drop on the tongue is astonishing in its sweetness and power. Could I make a photo of the flavor, it would be… it would be a color not yet seen. Something combined of the deep purple of the berry itself, and the green of the vine, and the lashing, violent brightness of the sun. That sun on the grapes all summer, that would be the foremost color of the flavor of the juice, the sunlight dashing against the glands beneath your ears, sugar and tannin and the purple wine yet unmade. Ah.
Lacking the camera that will record that moment on the tongue, I nevertheless take the photo that will show the eyeful.