Wrapping up the session. Waking up earlier, come morrow. Not sure what my thoughts are. Well, I do. But I’ll RESERVE [overused wine moniker] such expression for the Comp book’s sheets. This Cabernet throws a waffle-like note at nose, palate. Deep, syrupy, rich, incrementally provocative. Wine, beginning to lecture me as I used to my matriculants at the JC’s. I’m not a Cabernet, tonight. Weakened, by time’s indifference. The grapes profit from advancing moments. We, writers, parish, pain. Not in pain, now. This abnormally arranged SoCo Cab has me smitten, smothered in other druthers. Need to be a serious scribe, though. Sip slow.
Yes, my sister and I will make our own wine. One day. She’s a busy lady. So, if she can’t partner, I’ll figure it out. She’ll consult, at least, I’m sure. I’d like to be between 2 & 3 thousand cases. Would love to have a tasting Room. But, I’ve always seen the writer running a collective, having my winery as one of the wineries represented. But where do I get the capital? “Writing, of course,” the pen says. Have to produce a wine before death, that’s all I know. And Cab, my leading candidate. Time passing fast, need to focus on the profile on palate. Sip, sip ...
Raspberry. Or is it blackberry? Spicy plum? Waffles, still? Maple syrup? Chocolate earthy leather silk? Huh? Inky subtle chalk walk? What? Coffee, for sure. Am I sure? Going to need coffee come advancing morrow. This Cab’s final tilts, too tempting. Love the glassed life. Now I encounter...oil? Hmmm ... No, more like dark cedar branches, leaves. Am I doing this right? Don’t care. Love this Cab. It’s making the night memorable. At end, I enjoy it. Analysis, exhaustive deconstruction, unnecessary. Should start getting ready for bed, prepare for the morning mocha. Now, I get waffle cone. Okay, that’s clownish. Goodnight, reader. Thanks for reading. If you still are.