swirling track

Why do I love Sonoma Valley?  Places like the Vineyards Inn.  A wine location, a place to just get together with a good friend, and enjoy discussion, company.  Met with a friend of mine, Miguel, to talk about everything from wine, to writing and publishing, to Life in “wine country,” to Artistic integrity in the business world.  He had a Sauv Blanc, me a Cab.  I was romanced by the layout of VI, probably ‘cause I haven’t been in a while.  During today’s frequent, Miguel and I also talked about how difficult it is to make it in the writing world.  Finally someone who understands the scribe’s struggle.  And, while sipping my AV selection from their list, I thought of what wine does to those with appreciation for words written.  The bottled magic intensifies the adoration, speaking for Self.  Sure my brother Miguel would agree.  And the conversation, what novels, and books of other genres necessitate.

Back home, little Kerouac sings his newer songs to me.  Maybe he wants to collaborate.  It’s possible that this little character is his own varietal.  Everyone says he looks like me, but I have to disagree.  Surely, his own entity.  One singular, previously undiscovered.  And, this harmonizing son, Mr. Jackie, his own story, script.  Tonight, tasting another Cab, while furiously frolicking in these Comp Book’s sheets.  Didn’t get around to buying some Syrahs, as I’d conspired.  Am I familiar with tonight’s bottle?  A bit, yes.  And I’m leaving the AVA, producer and vintage away from this entry, intentionally.  I’m going to address the interpretation of this Sonoma Valley Cabernet; It’s voice, character.  First, it’s shy.  Well, either so, or intentionally withheld.  It wants me to follow the smoky berries to it maze finish.

A tad tired, as I’ve already session’d far past 1000 [words] for day.  But the Cab capsules me in colored courage.  Still need to print pages, but I’m comfortable.  May have conveyed such dilemma, predicament, before.  Topic next…  Work tomorrow.  Tours, tasting Room, possible library tasting.  Need more unfamiliar wines in this notebook.  Travel would bring that, but I have to exercise patience.  Life story, for this writer, anyway.  These barreled writings, ordering me to release them.  Bottle them into a book.  But after my talk with Miguel today, addressing everything from paper costs publication trends, I need tell the sentences to tightly sit; be patient with ME.  Sonoma Valley’s vines, budding–  Ready for eruption…  My books, equally.

9:48pm.  The wine, now, telling me to leave the page, walk away from session.  I don’t agree.  Is that bad?  Why would this be going through my head, now?  Especially after the discussion I had at Vineyards Inn, completely wrapped in writing.  Why would this wine advise something so awful?  Probably just in my head.  I’m translating the character wrong.  More sips…

Staying in chair.  This Cab, whose fruit itself houses just down the road, in valley’s heart, concedes it’s toying with me, testing me as a penner.  I’m just listing odd descriptors at this point, anyway.  Letting it win–  Oak’d smoke rope, black cherry ghost; illusionary flavor fog, tantalizing tannic tornado; cushioned night spice, rustic raspberry romance; alliteratively tangible taste illusion.  I’ll toy with her, returning.  Wine escape, for ink’s sake.

[4/6/12, Friday]

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