Tuesday, August 9, 2011
This Paso Robles blend, singing to me. A different chant, sound set. Difficult to interpret. But it reassures me that the blends present in my pages are admirable, quite quaffable--hate that word. Still thinking of where I’d want an office. Today, I fantasized about a view of the Pacific, out in Bodega Bay. That might be too far. Would rather be closer to wineries than the ocean, which would kill the old Me to hear. This morning, the fog over desperate grapes, encouraging, fruitful for my reflective frolic. As it burned off, closer to Napa in my drive, I remember feeling sorry for the vineyards, Sonoma Valley to Napa’s share of Carneros. And, I remember wanting to stop. Disregard work. Park. Look. Get out and walk between the rows. Touch, and write. No camera in possession, wouldn’t need one. Need more terroir in my life. So do the pages. Sip, sip ...
Posted by MIKEMADIGAN at 9:56 PM
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