Book 2, sure to entail more than a few of these. Tonight, a Bordeaux blend, even though I look at a pic of a Rhône Blend bottle from last night. Didn’t get to taste, sadly. But Mom and Dad the night before, applauding its edification, savory palate bounces, tumbles. Almost a playful wine comet, it sounded. As I detach a bit from wine’s world, getting closer to the Literary, I find more opportunity to TRULY appreciate wine, with no salivating capitalistic industry constricting, guarding, it. “Can’t taste, less you pay.” What? Not in these new truths; paginated, collated. Another sip of this blend, paired with Wine Lounge sounds, again, has me appreciating time out of the cube.
Wine photography, pulling me away, or closer? Hard to tell right now, as I’ve only just started to appreciate all that’s out there, all the potential stills for me, this worded delivery. The Composition book, filling with such reflection. Just how the wine world, not industry, promises so much discovery, enchantment, really. Just the way a bottle, or set of bottles can look on a counter, to the vineyards, to a structure’s stance in a given terroir. Fascinating. Truly Literary. This is what makes me want to travel. Just roam, whether it’s responsible or not. I don’t care. I have curiosities that seek remedy. Life, short. Especially for many of us in ink igloos.
Still in the chair writing. Sipping slow. Was going to remedially innumerate the notes greeting me. But what would that do, but disrupt the moment, these songs spilling through the small speakers. This Room, this office, MY office, the perfect setting. For me. That’s Wine’s Literary pose. Lovely. Today, while cubed, scribbled quite a bit. What keeps me calm, the day in steady progression. Feel as though if I didn’t pen between tasks, the day would stand still, and I’d be in that swivel chair eternally, till still. Rain outside. Light, but quite known. Like some winemakers, writers. No defamation in that line, all herald. Another pour, for this scribe’s soul’s sores. Sip, sip ...