Wine orders me to be stronger, to promise nothing and just act..
move. Winemaking this vintage and interpreting Chardonnay in some new way… not focusing on tropical voices, or oak integration, but just a white wine that’s expressive and theatrical, with her own pedagogy. Listening to wine and where she tells me to go, from varietal to varietal. Wine is not in the tasting room, not in the cave, but in the vineyard. Always in the vineyard, walking the blocks knowing and not knowing what my eyes ingest. Writing about wine is recording what wine teaches you about you, about life, about the time you take to sip, and if you elect, write. So m e, now on lunch break, with no lunch but only wine thoughts and aims, I listen for wine’s voice in this cubicle, with the crush pad just on the other side of that door. Wine made and sipped, me different after tasting a wine I’ve tasted I don’t know how many times before, again. Some new sentence stream, some new poem, new confession, song. And me, writing what I can. Wine makes me write, but more forces me to live more, more wildly and madly, freely, not fearing a thing in the industry, or anywhere.