Then what do you call it?
My wine story, speaking loudly this morning and in a way I can’t dismiss or just put to the side for sake of work. Know I need to, I’m trying…
Short stories about all the tasting rooms I’ve touched. St. Francis of course, Mayo, Kunde “Family”, Dutcher, Roth and Lancaster, Swift. Each with a set way, or poetry. And maybe not set but seen, all scenes.
Last night’s dinner and the wines we tasted then me working in the nook…. My kids walking the Wild Oak vineyard the other day with Mom and Dad…. Setting a timeline, one SET, strict.
Manifesting, like Kerri says. Just what I want.
Me traveling and telling the story of when my first was born, little Kerouac, my little Beat and how it send my to love MADLY in all reasonings and walks.
Walking from One Maritime Plaza to this Cal Street office, I know. I. KNOW.
Just what I’m to do…. This is something that can’t be delivered by any wine, or intoxicant… not by physical touch or any material thing.
No category, no diagnosis… just LOVE.