Ah, the liqvor mirabillis. It’s golden glow like shine tempts us to embrace the sun. And yet, we hold it up as though in reverence to toast the night. Drink, my friend. Taste the ages of the past in the fruits of labors modern. Smell the dust and sea and sail away in sunsets sumptuous. Refined of taste we bow our heads and drink to homelands past. Let us smile in memory of España as we wish upon the morrow. Glad is the day we broke our fast within the glow of life.