Already heating outside, with more pace and might than the immediate days previous. Am I prepared for class this morning? More or less. The semester’s beginning, always to most toilsome. Just took the first sip of the morning mocha, revived. But as I look at my poor little green notebook that was severely defiled by the washer and dryer, I sink. The drive to Solano this morning, not wanting it in my life, not this morning. Would rather be here, thinking of what winery to visit next, which wine to excavate with imagist and poetic pulses.
Thinking of the air show Dad and I attended on Saturday. Pilots, fascinating figures for a page. What they do, their training, the unavoidable peril of their duties. Dad has stories that need a page, pages. They deserve manuscript. Don’t know if I’m skilled or disciplined enough to write such. The instant adjustments of formation, the skeleton-rattling sounds, truly dumbfounding. When dinner came about, we had some artisan pizza with an ’06 Rutherford Cabernet. Fantastic pairing, not just concerning the food and wine, but company and occasion, mostly.
The drive to Dry Creek last week reminded me of why art, wine, literature are so synonymously aligned. But what I’m just now starting to appreciate, is how much of this splendor and wonder is natural, having nothing to do with Man. Yes, the vineyards are incredible, and those need Human attention to subsist and persist, but the hills, the valleys, don’t need us. Just something that cruised through my thoughts while cruising on Healdsburg’s western side.
Minutes melting. Where is my bag? Think downstairs. Need to snap a couple pictures on the way back from school. Realized I definitely have the photography bug. Video and still. I already knew this, so it’s not much of a realization.
Thinking for my fourth Mutineer piece I’ll interview a winemaker. But whom...