The grapes on the mountain we quite calm and collective as though the wind wasn't even blowing. But oh how that wind did blow oh so gently. Moving all the flowers on this mountain. But I'm getting side tracked this story is about the wonders of the grapes. They sat there on there vines waiting to be collected. Not moving an inch not a leaf on there vines blowing in the wind. There they sat and sat. Sometimes people would walk by and pick some if they were lucky to be chosen if not you still sat. As the days went on the weather got hotter and the grapes got weaker. Like the grapes became older and older each day to them was a birthday. Soon enough on the hottest day of summer they lost all there juice and were dry. They were finally elders of the grape tribe. People would soon come and pluck them all off and package them up.
