White wine

 As the pale sun sank into the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the vineyard, a gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the grapevines. In the distance, the sounds of birdsong and laughter floated on the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the soil. It was a scene of serene beauty, a slice of paradise tucked away in the rolling hills of the Tuscan countryside. But for one lonely grape, the day had taken a decidedly darker turn.

The grape in question, a lustrous green oasis amidst the red and purple hues of its neighbors, had somehow managed to escape the attentions of the harvesters. It dangled precariously from its stem, teetering in the breeze, its flesh beginning to wrinkle under the unrelenting sun. As the light faded and the shadows lengthened, the grape's desperation grew.

"Help!" it thought, feeling the gusts of wind tugging at its stem. "Is anyone out there?"

Alas, there was no reply. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the distant clink of glasses as the winemakers celebrated another successful harvest in the grand estate's banquet hall. There, beneath the sparkling chandeliers and amidst the aroma of roasting meats, the bottles of white wine flowed like a river, their crisp, refreshing flavors dancing on the tongues of the revelers.