I forget many of these, but don’t. At all. Tomorrow I’m in the tasting room, pouring wine and speaking its language, in my language, each bottles tone and dialect in the shape I know how… the versifies pulse I’ve always been. My sister-in-law, in ’09, as some of you know, suggested I start a wine blog, and as some of you know my initial reaction was to reject such a suggest. But, now, 9 years later nearly, I overdose in the words of her endorsement. I write only about wine, through these photos and from them. One… a vineyard.. the other, wine in a glass, and the other, who knows. It’s me, and wine, and the collaborative story. Finished the last of the ’12 Porter Creek Pinot I bought the other day from my buddy who’s been there for over ten years. Then I think of my time since SIL’s advice, and he being there for as long as he has and I think how time won’t stop for us. We have wine, and while wine aids in understanding and assuming time’s assault, I’m composed, and collective in the room now.
Nearly ready for bed, I look into the wine world’s world. Not sure what to do, I go back to the wineries, all of them that I’ve worked with, for, in. And there’s a few. From St. Francis, to now at Roth…. Thought, thoughts, too many thoughts. Not an excess but a certain abundance. One walk I remember, and I can’t find any shots for it know, but the Cabernet block, all ulterior in fog, mist, lower-than-usual clouds, I just walked around with my notebook, little and blank with its little-little pages, and me living in each step under the trees and by the creek. I refuse to forget any of this, forward going.