Fuzzy
A Tale from a Year in the Life of a Vine
Copyright 2021, Zachary Zundel
It is hard to look back,
And recall,
The times I was fabulous fit, strong, and tall.
Once perfectly ripe,
My fruits drew exclaims of delight,
Then …. I stumbled.
And nothing has been right since.
The harvests passed and no pickers came.
Months of work just left to hang on me.
I rot.
And all the beautiful greens.
All the glorious fruits.
All of it made me hate myself for what I am becoming.
Sagging vines.
A useless yield.
A thin film of fungus covers every inch of what is left of me.
Fuzzy.
All I can do is barely move,
One breath into the next.
Useless.
Then,
The vintner came,
And proclaimed.
What beautiful Botrytis.
You noble vines,
Magnificence beyond measure.
What can he possibly see,
In me?
Once gain,
This time through a different lens.
It is hard to look back,
And recall,
The times I was fabulous fit, strong, and tall.
Then a choice.
A trade.
To risk the surety of a plump and pleasant pick.
For the chance,
Of an eternal drink to haunt memories for an age.
Trockenbeerenauslese.
Quietly resolved,
I release my failing grasp on the easy path,
To gain?
Depth,
Complexity,
Immortality,
And pain.
It is a loss,
But there were things it also bought.
A distillation of every delicious detail,
Of me.
Squeezed.
A perfectly packed parcel prime for the pick.
Fabulously fuzzy.
And somehow new again from the addition of time.
All I can do is barely move,
One breath into the next.
No regret.
