Extraterrestrial life arrives to Earth. They arrive somewhere in Spain. Wine plays an important role in the way their perception of Earth is shaped. 200-500 Words.
A RELATIVELY SLOW HARVEST
Our spaceship materialises into their atmosphere and we hover miles above the sparkling shores of an endless continent. The planet below us is primitive and fertile, and constantly in turmoil. Unlike our own peaceful but sterile world, where everything is manufactured and administered to us as needed. My eagerly awaited annual holiday on planet Earth begins in the place we call the Land of Giants.
Attendants pass among us with trays of synthesised essence of Syrah, and Cava lemonade for the children, as our ships spiral downward to our rallying point among the spires of Gaudi’s Basilica. They loom like ornamental mountain peaks above the cavernous streets of their city. If we had the ability to slow our timeline enough to become visible in their world we would appear no bigger than a swarm of honeybees above their heads. But a day for them is a year for us and we can only observe their legendary culture from the safety of our ships.
They appear frozen to us with smiles and greetings of friendship painted warm on their faces as they drink their wine and eat food in shaded streets and sunny plazas. With their futures on this wild planet unknown to them, they seem so fearless and optimistic to us. We know that, for them, their days and years can seem to slip through their hands so quickly, but as we pass among them we are envious of their longevity and can only try to reflect on the meaning in our own uneventful lives. Our tiny fleet turns and heads out into the countryside over rolling plains of towering vines.
We have a belief on our planet that when we die we are reborn as a perpetual human thought in this Land of Giants. And as beings who will live our entire lives in the time it takes for a grape to ripen on Earth, we savour the taste and sights of our future immortality.
I have been coming here all my life and the grapes are now very ripe with the pickers already assembled, and I know that I may not have many pilgrimages left, but perhaps I can live to see this harvest completed over the coming voyages.
We circle in low and see the expressions of hope and enthusiasm on their sun-kissed faces as they prepare to become one with the produce of this vibrant land. Syrah permeates the moment and once again I try to imagine how it feels to be part of this eternal cycle of life.
I hope that I will be reborn in the youthful eyes of one of these dreamers in the harvest, for without the patient attention of humans to slow down our years, this fleeting universe would have no meaning for us at all.