from book…

22:21… sipping a glass of EOS Zin, my last for nuit, and my thoughts go to harvest again, the grapes I saw in bin, the conversation I had with the winemakers, John and Chris, at day’s end about Pinot interpretation and what this vintage is promising interns of overall expression.  I have to make my own wine, I thought.  Or at least bottle some bulk.  Something.  Wine is all about my sense and visions, memories and recollections from the day walking back and forth from the office.  The Pinots now, at Roth, I see not so much differently but with a different and more paused reasoning as a result of my talk with John and Chris.  This Zin, from Paso I think, brings me to varying ideation on wine and selling and marketing and self-employment.  Wish I had more to sip so I could continue this introspection and thoughtful yodel.

Didn’t hit 3,000 words today, and what can I do at this point.  Nothing.  Wake earlier tomorrow.  No coffee in the house but so what… go to the couch and write.  OR, go get some coffee and come back home and write.  Wine tells me to stop putting myself in strife, in kerfuffle.  Just write and do your job as a writer, interpret wine and listen to her sense-frolics and write to them and you’ll be fine.  With the Zin gone, I’m eased, more than fine.  My own wine, who knows.  I’m sure I could get ahold of some juice, but do I really want that, or just sip and scribble?

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