This post is also available in: Italian

The sun blew away a cluster of clouds and looked down below.

Those neat expanses of rows of vines, which interrupted the green of the uncultivated fields, filled him with pride. They seemed painted, so precise was their arrangement.

He turned his gaze to embrace the horizon and was almost moved. He had always been sentimental, one with an easy tear.

The other stars sometimes made fun of him for that, but he didn’t care. Because being able to contemplate the world from that privileged position was not a matter for everyone, and the show never bored him.

The villages perched on hilltops, the old white sheep-tracks of the shepherds, the foliage of the trees in the wind. There was something magical in that ball of earth that unfolded lazily before his eyes.

The proof was that it was enough for him to look just beyond that paradise and everything was already changing. Factories, traffic, pollution. All those things he hated that made his eyes burn and made him sneeze.

But there, just below him, beauty subjugated him to the point of taking his breath away.

Humans, funny characters who always ran, that corner of the world called it the Cesanese area. They were famous for their wine, those lands. Men have been drinking it for millennia, and reportedly appreciated it very much. A firm but gentle red, they said. Strong but at the same time delicate.

The sun recognized himself in that unique and unmistakable grape juice. Because he was a bit like it, he had his own character.

For this reason he was proud when he contemplated those vineyards. He knew that the merit of all this was also his.

The moon, on those times that they met fleetingly in the sky at sunrise and sunset, smoldering as it was, reminded him that she too did her part.

Remember that the best time to bottle wine is when I’m full

she would say mocking him affectionately, and that your job would be useless if I didn’t intervene. The sun smiled shyly at her, without even looking into her eyes.

He had always been in love with her, but he never had the courage to tell her. They saw so little of each other, on the other hand. He then worried, knowing she was around all night. But he knew it was necessary, and he also knew that his words were true.

This gave him a tender and profound joy, because to think that there was something they did together gave him a beautiful feeling.

The sun suddenly shook from all those thoughts. Looking down there on the slopes of those mountains always had a strange effect on him.

Men called that strange intoxication happiness.

He didn’t know what name to give it, but he didn’t care. He took refuge again behind that soft cluster of white clouds. Waiting for the evening, when the moon would have touched his flickering orange rays passing by him again.

Happiness, they called it.