Wine, today and all days. For interpretive concerns, what I’m to do contra what not. The day, pushing me lovingly into more inwardly directed narrative, and what the vineyard will look like today, the new life therein and about, me with my verses walking between rows, seeing thoughts and life, new life, promises and books, pages and narrations, short stories and even just in-the-moment jots in each would-be cluster.
With only 20 minutes or so left to self, to write here in the Brooks Rd. coffee spot as I try to do as much as able, I see my book taking shape, reading the final draft to some bottle that you save, or are “supposed” to lay down. Know what I’m opening tonight, with Mom and Dad, know what this short piece is supposed to say, what I’m to say with in class tomorrow, on the Road, with mad delight and positive pulse, vibes and yay-saying lean, embrace. My thoughts become ideas, as I wrote yesterday in the meeting while the one holding it just went on and on about procedures, and new practices at the wineries to generate sales… and I say that not to mock the gentleman, but to credit him, loudly, and with paginated envy. He and I see wine differently. He, a business and management bloke while this writer is doing cartwheels and butterfly strokes in thought and wild wine musings, speaking in verse and music, like a random and erratic Coltrane track…. Ideas and thoughts, action and character growth. All I can taste in the glass, last night with wife, having an inspiring dinner in home after going out for drinks and an appetizer down the Road from our Autumn Walk studio.
This story is more than wine, more than human life, more than thought. It’s……..