If wine grapes made noise, Mourvèdre would hum low and long, like a foghorn thrumming out a warning in the dark, thick stratus. Perhaps a melodic tune would emerge—something a stand-up gal could capture with the strings of her bass. Thum-bum-ba-dum, hum-ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. If grapes had personalities, Mourvèdre would be the brooding dude standing […]
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