It begins with a great love, great and painful, a thousand times it’s recreated from nothing, but always alive, red like wine, like the passion that bonds …
He chose a bottle of wine from the cellars to approach her everytime he sulked.
Sweated cellars, loved like must, “with its bitter smell of old where the heart remembers.”
Evoked ghosts of the hugging couple dancing on my round, with silk clothes, she whirls, unaware of who is looking.
They lived in the 1800s, they lived of that secret love during the dance, because she was a lover and loved; he had eight children, two died, a wife “Donna Carminia”.
He fell in love with the white flesh of the countess, she was curious to see so much strength, virility of a country man.
She used to hold a ball every year for him during the wine festival, that was held on the highest pointof that holy place. After pressing grapes barefoot in the barrels, just once, she gave herself to him, masked, she slipped and he loved her there in the interweavings.
(Intrecci “Interweavings” is an Aglianico wine Doc from the lands of lovers, who still now, once a year, dance on the round, unaware of anything.)