Pinot Noir from yesterday…. Riled and wild earth and pulses and poems across, back and forth on and all about tongue.  Usually dark, depth that startles and charms you.  Not sure what I’m tasting, if it’s that trite mention of “forest floor” that every wine-whatever writes, or is this something ghostly, an apparition, an atmosphere of some kind in her, that she wants to speak and not convince me of but narrate directly, loving me from initial contact to sip’s summation.

Telling cheery, cherry echoes and reverb, strange song that pulls you closer.  2015, consequence of the drought?  Maybe.  But I don’t care, if you must know.  I want more of her…