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Clearly in this vertical universe, the spark is inevitable. From the union of the sky, male bearded God and the womb of the earth, pure but wild, the fruit is born. The greedy antennae of the vines torment the clouds; the leaves make the wind sing, their roots plunge, and search, intruding into the deepest sandstone, shale, marble and limestone. The vine-stock is the catalyst for this divergent yet complementary power. Half way between the sky and the earth the grape synthesises and the pulp, the stalk and the skin take in all the energy of this shock, this contact, this balance of forces.