If You Still Wonder at the Power of Food, Try Italian

Each and every time I take a sip of wine, a very distinct reel of images pokes its mischievous head out from the depths of my memory. I float right back to Florence, (an immediately blissful place to exist) where I peer up at the sky through tall grass. Sunlight peaks through a dandelion to tickle my cheek and I am surrounded by laughter. There are brilliant people all around and for once, I am not taking the moment for granted. 

Our picnics were taken very seriously. We collected cheese and bread and prosciutto, nutella and strawberries, grapes, olives, no forks or knives or spoons. We had no knowledge of the correct wine to drink, so we paid very little and drank both red and white, then red again for good measure. There was no need for glasses, we intended to share the moment completely, as family. We sat in a circle and beamed at one another, already discerning the significance of one afternoon. Sip then pass, and try to remain calm if you are skipped. 

We were dreaming together, and it was as if time were offering us a precious gift. Three times we returned to the hills to drink our wine and share our cheese and break our bread, but as the years persist, the moments have become woven together with affection. Now, we are in love with one simultaneous breath - captured and set free.