Feed the grape and bean
I remember vividly when as a young child I got into a grape-making phase. I'd take wonderful woodsy-smelling clay and roll it into little balls with my delicate fingers, carefully lining them up in perfect grape clusters. Oh they were luscious. Oh! To be a sculptor. But then I would have ended up with my normal adult artistic angst, so I'll leave my memories intact and be satisfied. My mother was creative and my childhood was filled with pride and joy in all the little constructions we made together. My adult life, sans my mother, is also filled with these objects of genius. I do love to play.
to the vintner and the monger;
I will lie down lean
with my thirst and my hunger
The strange thing is .... I can't stand to eat them. Grapes, that is. I won't touch one. Similar to a pig and a cucumber. And you know, I don't even like wine that much. But raisins I absolutely adore. Life is funny.
Excerpt from Feast by Edna St. Vincent Millay