notes

Up early the next morning for meeting at one of the properties.  Decide to take a walk around the street, block, enjoy the quiet, the much-welcomed return of fog, and my zen.  Something oddly artful to the ruin across the tracks, on our side as well.  Still hard to believe it happened.  But I kept walking, took a couple pictures but not so many that I’d be one of those people that takes pictures of a disaster and posts it to whatever page.  I just needed a walk, I wanted to feel that fog, see how it shaped the environment here.  I’m a writer, right?  So I needed to see what I felt out there, how the mist and nourishing vapor added to what’s around me.

Today starts on a different note, chord.  Not sure what it’s promising, or if it’s pro Ising anything.  But I need be ready to record.  08:43 and I should be leaving soon, be in the position to launch, soon.  “What do you want from the day?” I ask myself, and rather aggressively.  Nothing specific.  To have a great meeting, to write, spend time with babies, listen to music, make my own music, hear French… be calm.  Not stress.  About anything.

On second cup of coffee, and the effects rattle me more than usual.  Not sure why.  Hear noises outside, flip up one of the blinds, just a neighbor bringing in garbage cans— not really cans but plastic bins on wheels.  Nearing 09:00, should leave, get ready to leave, be excited about meeting.  Yes…. Freedom on mind.  Creative freedom.  I’m not confined to wine as a topic, or subject, theme, whatever, but freed by it.  The wine itself, the vineyards, the Roads here in wine country, the houses around the vineyards and the smell of the air, morning and night.  Everything in what people call “wine country” envelops itself in so much not at all associated with wine or its industry.  Life… this county, this one and Napa, and Mendocino and other wine counties bring with it an educating angularity.

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