Stories and Book Talk

The taste of grapes lingers on my tongue like a spritz, a coolness of air, a moment of sourness, then lingering sweetness. I want to eat another; at the same time, the wetness of the grape makes me hesitate.

For a moment.

Still, I reach for another, wanting a taste, despite the distaste for wetness, for that spritz, that coolness of air, that moment of sourness, and then the lingering sweetness.

Before I know it, a whole bunch of grapes is gone, and all that is left is a web of dry, stringy tendrils that once connected a bunch of grapes to a healthy, vibrant vine.

How fleeting the moment was.

The taste of grapes lingers.