This is Castlèt Rosé. La vie en rose. A scent you catch with your eyes closed, but only if you know how to listen from the bottom of your heart will the music of a far-off band reach your ears. It’s a country dance with the women who scent of lavender and fleurs-de-lis, and the young men are clean-shaven and wear freshly laundered shirts. The girls on the Vespa are growing up to be women. Their looks and bows are still the same as when they were little girls, but the rose-pink is changing them. There’s a promise and there’s a hope in their still shy eyes. Pink is happiness, pink is like dawn turning to day. I’ve left the deep red of my Barbera grapes behind in the press. I’m the fruit of the soft pressing of the bunches. I spring surprises by subtraction. I have no rules and I love people who look to the future.