I needed a wine, a Zin actually, that had voice and conviction, command over my sense for sakes of calming, and it was there. This 2013 Sbragia La Promessa Zin. Have had it before but only in the tasting room and a couple ounces, at maximum estimation. I’m here in my office, home, now more relaxed— It’s euphonious blackberry and blueberry chocolate taunts have me more composed and calm, forgetting about day’s stresses. Of course stress will try to come back around for another pass to unsettle me, but the Zin is there, with its foggy texture and bright jump of a shapely song.
Another sip confirms its woo. And me, not much ado. Just enjoying. This is a cure, a delicious yield to a cosmos larger than my immediate stage. I could get lost in this red but I halt and sip in measure as I have to run in the morning, but it cured me of the day. And I’m thankful in many a way. I needed a wine and I was with the right one after a day like this. Thinking, meditating as it shed its jammy a-typicality and happily concedes to a more texture-purposed poétique. Zinfandel and I have never had this conversation, where I orate with such loftiness and praise, where I’m such a Lilliputian, a dazed follower of this Druidic fluid. Sbragia’s been there for me on more than one occasion but this night’s the more memory-promised of all them. New ideas, new affirmations, all from that base on Dry Creek Road, with the valley view, atop pedestrian pace but welcoming everyone. I need another glass, but don’t. Save the remainder for morrow. Best that way. New chapter and song, removing nay-say in any day. Should stop by and buy a bottle, for the next time a day like this strikes.