Woke this morning wanting to walk a vineyard. 

Any property.  Don’t care.  I see myself as more part of the vineyard, vineyards in Sonoma particularly, than anything else..  On the way to Fairfield I’ll stop somewhere, I’m sure, maybe at the famed Gun’ Bun.. I’ll see.  I’ll walk, my intent.  But there’s nothing but wine thoughts about me, all its terrestrial and metaphysical collectivity.

On mind as well: the blogging sales approach– importing wines from France.. two regions particularly– Bordeaux and Rhône.  I know, cliché, but it’s what I know.  And why not start there?  I can see those leaves now, in their lighter laying on vines, tired and read to fall to dampened rich dark trail, soft and fragrantly bright, assertive and convicted.

Wine vision, wined day, even this coffee I consider as I do wine.  I ask why but the solvent is redundant in its obviated cognitive placement.