In the day-shine we were blessed to follow the passions of our hearts in our work; come the star-shine we were blessed to sit around a wine bottle or two and laugh together.
In that wine bottle was a thousand perfect grapes, the gifts of the rich brown earth and a generous sun.
Tia wanted a wine bottle shaped more as an hour-glass so that her hand could fit around the middle more comfortably, or perhaps one of those corked fat bottles would be better, the sort that had a handle.
Though the glass was doubtless a vibrant strong green, and the wine the deepest of reds, the bottle became the hue of a welcoming deep brown, the sort that brought aged oak barrels to the imagination.
The wine bottle was typically humble, as was the custom in the region; what was inside was a matter of upmost importance to all, the bottle? It was just a vessel, right?
The wine bottle was almost clear, suggesting that it was the sweet golden wine that gave it such a pretty hue.
The wine bottle neck poked cheekily from the rucksack. It was a tiny advertisement of sorts that Cody was off for a romantic picnic, yet without any clue to whom the lucky partner could be.
The wine bottle was the customary green, yet deeper where the red wine sat within. Unlike the bottles in the cellar it had a shine to it that accentuated the age of the label, time-yellowed with corners that curled.
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