At OChateaux, the first wine translates, “far from the eye” — grapes grown in the shade. Its fragrance is lemony like magnolias, its taste tangy. I liken this delicacy to the phrases and lines that arise from recent memories, from the writer’s private, poetic joy in nature, flowers and solitude.
The Chablis is clean, a clear accent over goat cheese, very smooth, no bite. The taste of directly rendered, simple experience without qualifying, without impressing an audience. My moments are valuable, some more so than others, and what I have to say is worth the while of writing.
The Clos Hermitage smells like fresh spring rain in the morning, complex. It pairs nicely with sheep cheese. Some writing times are filled with creativity, unbidden, to be enjoyed momentarily. Some rich overlap of ideas and experience get into words on a page and revised with craft and care. Because these lovely tastes are not daily fare does not mean I should not write.
Le Prieuré 2009 smells smoky offering a rich woodsy flavor of raspberry. It has a filmic quality like Florence; pairs with brie with truffles. A mysterious ferment to write, some appellation that I cannot remember, brings me back to blog, to send notes to loved ones, but mainly to meet myself. One way that I taste life is by swirling it in a glass, noting its color and composing.
