A July storm passes through the vineyard and in its wake, the first silent signs of ripening appear.
Véraison
the white heat of July slowly brewed an ink-stained sky
a grey mesh blankets the vines upon trellises
while a deafening thunderclap
shakes the ground beneath,
lingering in its fury—
after the thunder’s last murmur
come torrents of rain—
wet pedicels swell,
strain under heavy-laden clusters,
bark and cordon turn ebony
under the storm’s shadow—
the camouflage fractures after the rain,
side-swept leaves expose hidden clusters:
amethyst beads
among the celadon pearls.
—Deirdra Vachal © 2026
Image by Olivier Lemoine (https://Photo-Terroir.fr), CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
lilies, sparrows and grass 
Stirring…I feel the vineyard’s energy awakening in this thoughtful prose, Dee! 💚🍃 🍇
Thank you so much, Susan. I think yesterday’s storms found their way into both our writing. 😊 I’m so glad the vineyard’s quiet awakening spoke to you. Thank you for your encouraging words. 💜🌿🍇
A vivid picture of hope after the storm. It takes away some of the fright of the storm. Timid souls like me fear the stormy weather though it often brings positive developments as in your beautiful prose/poem.❣️Ellen
Thank you so much, Ellen. I understand what you mean—I, too, have great respect for storms. Yet they often leave behind unexpected gifts. In the vineyard, it was only after the rain that the first signs of ripening revealed themselves. I’m so glad the poem resonated with you. Thank you for your beautiful words. 💜🍇
Yes, I got the positive outcome in the vineyard grapes revealed in your poem but I still get scared.
💜🤗
hey