(Mist rising from the suburban landscape, leaves whirling in the air, pumpkins with candles flickering on doorsteps, faint howling in the far distance, and a full moon in the sky….)
Six bottles of Halloween wine approach via horse driven coach, thundering down the lane, with bare trees grasping at the coach doors, reaching for the glistening, ruby wines.
Goblins, vampires, zombies and wild things waiting desperately for sustenance, the sustenance of the vine, well aged, of syrah, of zinfandel, of merlot, of cabernet; blood red, and dripping with depth, light, and waiting to be released, to breathe, to be consumed, and to sate the thirst of the waiting confederation.
Halloween; that night of shadows; darkness; depth; fear; and most of all, fine wines to be shared among the brethren of the night.