Sometimes I just stare. At the vineyard and the wine in the glass– sometimes it’s not about tasting or drinking, but just observing; all the people at the counter or bar or whatever you want to call it and just listen to them talk about wine and what wine means to them. THEIR wine thoughts. The Peace of it all, the Zen behind the glass’ contents; observation and thought and reflection, and I mean real reflection–
And this could be wrong but who’s to say, who’s to say anything about how one reacts to and interacts with wine? I still just watch the puddle, that deep purple, or black, or dark dark purple sea, and it stares back at me, with grateful docility.