More light now, at 06:22…. And me thinking of today as

IMG_7295the one that finishes my first wine book.  And I mean, really finishes it.  Not some fantastic fascination, some writer fantasy and self-affirming ghost in my character, but something more, something… you’ll see.  I’ll see.  We’ll all read.  My 12th year in the wine business and I think only now I get it, have more of an anvil-like understanding and conceptual appreciation for wine and the people that drink it, drink her and all her messages and histories.  How is it that this morning is this morning, where I zoom through 2,00 words always coming back to wine but acknowledging where I am here in the house with wife and babies upstairs asleep, counting on me to do something cosmic, something meteorically transformational?  I don’t know, but I’m doing it.

The vineyards.. walk them.

The wines, listen to all of them, as all of them are HER.

You, keep writing.  Don’t you dare fucking stop.  Define and tell and speak wine, all steps of yours are hers, and they WILL be on page.

With a glass of ‘14

Merlot in tow, I measure everything. Seeing more of me, my future, forgetting about age for a minute which I know will make certain readers quite happy, but here.. now… right now with this wine, the grape that pulled me further into it all. Not much a writer, right now, after the taxing tasting room tale that was today, with my little vino sis Taylor. 21:25, should just clock out, shouldn’t I… watch some writer show and note in the Burgundy Journal, something. Something that will get me to the Road– fuck I’m tired of wishing. So stop. Do. Ceasing these types. Wine and ink, a page– now.