Telling me to consider a new form, new song, new shape of Syrah’s hold. Moving wildness and peripatetic pulse and gaze from this purist Rhône sway. Assuring berry climb and more picturesque arrangement of palate and poise. After the third or fourth sip, I could feel the narration further settle it rhythm and taste rate. This is antithetical to that lazy Syrah stereotype that I’ve so frequently met and seen stretch. Another lesson, another meditation, collection of self in this personification, oration, poetic station. Beacon of body and togetherness the more she’s let to get into performance mode, ready for recital. Opened at 6:15, about, and sipped nearly immediately. I wanted the character in her most truest and prophetic of flights. Didn’t have another glass until near an hour after I brought her to counter, invited her to read her alchemical pages, verses. Now I saw her songs, new tracks in each sip and more cogent code and presence. She taught me patience, bright and non-turbulent amour. Promise and prognostication, what’s ahead for me in my wined story. Mendocino Ridge, always being one of my sought-after regions, and mon frère de vin, Master Sommelier Brian McClintoc, letting me get ahold of a couple presences. Was sure I’d take to her well before the cork removal, but last night proof kept me.
Writing my notes I kept sensing new little and sometimes significant suggestive climates and seismologists. She delivered acute coyness coupled with deep ardor and intentions, notably with a mythic dark chocolate hum, hymn. Her most self-defining chapter, begin… shapely earth, fog, climate, steepness of the Mendocino Ridge discloses in known cogent abode. Now, I felt elevated, both in soul and interactive goal, far beyond merely getting to know her or see what my friend me sent. Truth in revolution and Syrah-sown absolution.
Everything in her notes tells me to persist in exploration. More than jazz, more than the simply sensual, but a revolving revolution of understanding, meditative cosmos coupling with angular ease, encircling zen, again, again…. Writing more in my kitchen, looking at the bottle, the color of the now-empty glass arena from where she me taunted, I See. More in the verses of the bottle, the vintage and where she’s from, that vineyard in that elevated appellation. Escaping with her, away from stress and any encroachment. Just she, me, the sequencing rhythm sea. Repeated and with no cacophonous redundancy.
New interest and magnetic alertness, me standing and jotting notes quickly as able. I felt, feel as I type this finally, indebted about our encounter and new association. Remembering the first sip, glass, to last. New stories and narrative, Syrah and the ’16 dialogue. Just want to lock Self in a room away from everything and continue in my write for her. Why wouldn’t I want to… when a wine speaks to you as she did, does, there has to be action, an answer, a sequence of collection and aim to further be part of what she sang. I just lean, back into pillow, reliving the initial touch, last, and now these collected note echoes.