Mike arrived home from the Alexander Valley event. He was, in all flavors and folds, certain that winemaking was his current path. In syncopation with the writing, of course. Nothing would ever overshadow the page. He sipped his IPA, thought about the wines he was gifted today, thanks for his assistance. He couldn’t believe he was even compensated. What did he expect, nothing. Mike was there in adoration of the bottles produced, from that unique terroir. It was about the wine. His love for.
Today’s event also showed Mike that the writing projects needed definite dates of release, adequate PR. Not more arbitrary pages. He sipped his IPA, listening to Wine Bar echos, knowing today meant savory shift. He’d surely open one of those AV Cabs tonight. He had too, he knew.
Kelly wasn’t coming over, and he was somewhat at peace with such, for once. The last thing Mike wanted to do was disrupt her new progression, in what she loved. He envied her, learned from her, her strides and strategies, spontaneity. She did it, or at least was doing it momentarily. Living from art. Today’s event, gathering of wine club members, taught him that daily bliss is more than merely “believable,” achievable. It’s already close. No, already in the Room with, wherever he went. Just have to respect its presence to make it ever-present.
The book, somewhat coming along. Maybe he should give the blog, or log, or whatever it was this week, a tap more ado. His immediacy, thought tsunamis, could be caught, pasted to page. His indecisive collectiveness may just be his genre. He thought, then, in the final IPA tilt. That’s what could sell. Maybe. He didn’t know. But he’d try. That’s all winemakers did, was leap. Sure, there was strategy. But, in result’s reality, it deconstructed itself to trusting Self. She would agree, as that’s precisely what she did, was probably doing, in her studio, with those glasses. Another Literary lift, sip ... Perfect beginning to month.
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