I don’t see wine as anything fancy, or even special, and don’t see her as a simple beverage. I don’t know what she is— part theory, part phantasm, part ghostly concept and consistency, part Earth, part… maybe something we don’t know and that I won’t know by book’s closing period. Experience, exploration… poetry, yes. And not “bottled poetry”. God I hate when people say that, use Stevenson’s line. I don’t agree. Wine may be poetic, but it isn’t bottled. Even when in the bottle. And if I get away from trying to define wine, ‘cause I’m not too confident she can be, again let’s wildly and near-childishly meander in her idea. From ground to vine to glass.. then…. No, I’ll focus on experiences, how so many times when I had free time I’d go tasting. There was one post on my first blog, one of the first posts, where I said something like “Wine Tasting… Off to do some of that.” It was that forward, that one dimensional and complicated, providing me education on my own character and what I wanted from wine…