Our vines turned dark-red against the resting earth. Gum trees swayed in the gales. The swallows flew north. For me, the thrashing trees brought a chilly anxiety, a sense of foreboding. Dead leaves eddied about my feet as if trying to warn me of something I couldn't yet know...
And Fili was right. Despite embracing her new family and community, and securing her future - or so she thought - a tragedy takes place on the wine farm and Fili is accused of a crime. Will she be able to prove her innocence?
The police investigate. The medical evidence is sifted, and her family and friends wait for clarity. The season changes, the vines turn lush with new tendrils and the first trusses of grapes. Yet beneath the greenery, the truth twists and turns like the gnarled trunks of winter.
For how long will I live in this limbo of being neither guilty - nor innocent?
Years pass. Memories fade. Life goes on. And yet...
Every five years or so, an
investigative reporter in search of a scoop sifts through the evidence - and
the conjecture - and produces a new theory.
I give no interviews and admit no public
or private suspicions, or the truth...