Mike thought of his drive from Monterey, seeing the sign for Stanford, on 280.  Sipping his ’07 Alexander Valley Chardonnay, Mike was greeted by a character that reminded him of Kelly.  A smooth yet daunting tapestry of notes contributing to a hypnotizing mouthfeel.  Floral nose to prancing finish, Mike sat there, unable to document his rendezvous.  The rain, pairing wonderfully with his moment. But he needed words.  On the page.  Now.

It was an open house weekend, and Mike was to be behind the marble the following day.  The Chard made him not worry so much about the herd that was to soon accost him.  

Mike decided to list words, ones that could capture the crux of what waved in the bowl.  Flirtatious, circuitous,  ineluctable.  This was Kelly’s pour, truly.  Mike was never much of a Chardonnay adorer.  But tonight, cemented.  Peach, vanilla, subtly floral with its perfume posture.  Mike sipped again.  Eyes, closed.  Dozens of lines flew past him, then back at him.  He didn’t want to write them down.  This was a true tryst, a Literary tumble, tussle.

Rain, returned.  Mike decided poetry was more fitting for a recording of this selection of seconds.

A dive into irresistible 

peril.  Sip, sip.

Room’s walls, nestling the

occasion.  Welcomed.

Strangely swirled in his session, Mike stilled his motions.  He looked to his right, saw Capote’s book.  He knew he needed to read more, but didn’t know when he would find such expendable time.  That wasn’t an excuse, he knew.  Hungry, Mike became bored with everything.  Time for a break, for reader’s sake.

This Chardonnay, wraps me in its blanket of expansiveness.  Perhaps my interpretive aptitude, compromised at this point.  Tired, but not.  What to write tonight: what I’m always debating, “considering.” Why does indecisiveness always follow me, my Craft?  Thinking of my script again, the screenplay.  Could be the effect of notable amounts of wine, then more Chardonnay?