Far too late to be sitting to write.  But not the first time today.  Finished a poem at lunch, one take late, around 3pm.  Two mountain tours, both easy.  And what made them even more melodic, the weather.  The ambrosial nature of the atmosphere, view, surrounding vines.  Day’s end, a co-worker and I went to mountain’s top to clean up.  We took longer than usual, finding ourselves taken by what the guests were, and other components I’ll admit.  I remember one of the people I brought up there saying, “There’s nothing better than this.  I mean, what’s better than this?” So thankful I wasn’t trapped in that tasting Room.  Didn’t get a chance to touch the Poe pieces, as I wanted, but I did post to the teaching blog, twice.  I’ll leave it alone for a couple days.

At right, glass of Barbera, if you can believe.  A 2010.  Can’t remember the last time I sipped this varietal type.  My assessment…  Not for me.  Not my “palate.” Too acidic, too bright, too loud.  Yes, I know it’s a food wine, or at least that’s what I’m told.  I’m offering my assessment, and it doesn’t need elaboration, explanation, expansion.  I mean, it’s only wine, after all.  But after taking a second significant sip.. I get firm strawberry suggestions, pleasant eucalyptus, white pepper.  Interesting…

Writing retreat, one week from tonight.  I’ll be with coworkers, on a Gatsby night of sorts.  Bowling alley, if I’m not inaccurate.  Can’t let Self be out late.  And I most certainly can’t permit my character to forget little pages, the scribbling faculty.

May do a beer for 2013, since wine’s no longer on runway.  I’ll do so with Sam.  Again, maybe.  We’ll talk about it tomorrow, my colleague and I, in his lab.  Exploring options, gallon potential, possible taste shapes.  I also want to bring my camera tomorrow morning, my “best” one, to take a couple pictures of descending vineyards, in their approach to dormancy, their seasonal sleep.

Writing everything.  That’s my Creative shape.  Much like Plath’s pieces in ‘Panic’.  Want to watch that movie again tonight, at some point [“Sylvia”].  Why am I straying from poetry again,

with these paragraphs–

this marketable formality.

I don’t want to

be

merchandise,

on some bookstore

shelf.

 

But I’m not that distanced!  I wrote a poem today.. or finished one.. at lunch!  I’m OVERthinking.  As always.  Third sip from glass, more colorful, playful, than the other tastes.  But no moment spoliation.. I can always pour one more.  And I will.  Moving from this kitchen nook to couch, where I can better situate, concentrate.

10:43pm.  Bottle still open, cork removed, air invading.  Good.  I want to see what else can be unlocked.  My goad for poetry, shocked into some strange stasis.  Now that’s all I can hear.  And with this new confidence I have, especially with speech, idea generation, I can only see printed sheets, book sales.  Bloody edit that book, then!  This new confidence, so funny…  First time I noticed it was the other night, Thursday, in English 1A.  Hard to word, but I just felt like my position could only be clearly conveyed.  And I just felt strong.  Still do.  I stand by all I say, and I follow through with all statements, sans qualification.  This has to be written.  It just was.