Wine speaks. Everybody knows it. Look around. Ask the fortune teller on the street corner, the guest that wasn't invited to the wedding, the village idiot. It speaks. It's a ventriloquist. It has a million voices. It loosens the tongue, reveals secrets that you shouldn't have ever told, secrets that you didn't even know you knew. It shouts, raves, and whispers. It talks about great things, marvelous projects, tragic loves, and terrible betrayals. It laughs out loud. It silently stifles a laugh. It cries over its thoughts. It brings to mind summers from long ago and memories that are best forgotten. Every bottle is a breath from other times, other places, and each one is a little miracle.