Only Sonoma Coast/Sonoma County could, can, produce a Pinot with this type of delightful disruption. Imagining mySelf again in that hotel Room, looking over unfamiliar streets, an overnight for my writing. Would it be a novel, the one I finally write about her? Maybe. Either way, wines like this send me places, to conscious dreams. Intentional cognitive removal. This state, incomparable. Vintage, ’09. Producer, what does it matter? I want to get away, quite far, from labels in this moment. Just want to write, sip, imagine travel. Today, no rain. The vineyards, probably used to steady stream, after last week. Wonder if they’re perturbed by delay, like a writer frustrated with Self for propulsion drought. All I ever have to recall, suddenly summon–her, my character. I know, I vowed not to address her too much. Just know, reader, she’s in sights, with me in sip, scribble.
My sister’s and my wine, still in barrel. Need an update, as my patience, ever typical of Artist, barely straightly stands. Another sip of this ’09, advised I should call winemaker Sis, and if she’s overcome with her projects present, take it upon Self. But I don’t know what that means. I can’t just march into St. Francis’ production facility and start thieving whichever barrel I believe to be mine. Ours, rather. Sorry. Yes, I have no idea where it was moved. And I certainly can’t thieve other barrels for topping purposes. I need my professor sibling. This, yet another needle with winemaking path for me. Writing, I just sit, a session starts. With wine, I need all that I don’t but do only through Katie have. I’m dependent. Not detrimentally, or defamatorily, but that is my affairs’ state with making wine. But I’m not stopping. I’ll express Self through terroir as I do through inked touches.
Speaking of Sonoma County, terroir, wine, I couldn’t help but stand outside my car before I left work, just snapping stills of what surrounded. Thought about writing where I stood, but I had to get home, had to write, had to put something in the Comp Book. Time, now, 9:23p. Have to get to the spoken word tonight. Don’t tell anyone, but I wrote a little at my desk today. Had an interesting conversation with Drew today, after packing a few shipments, about different shipping laws in difference states, tax compliance, and how the size of a winery can influence allocations as it pertains to states’ laws. Good to know, I thought, especially if I get whoso cellars off the ground. No…WHEN I do so, have my own label. Well, I do have the label, the philosophy, but what I intend to convey is ‘when I have my winery aerial’d. Pinot, almost out of pulse. Still letting my mind away fly. What else can I do, being the varietal of writer I sit, stir. Running out of time, words. Another sip incurred. Ink, blurred. Another Sonoma Pinot. Her, me. Breathe slow. Settled, mettled.
Mike Madigan is an independent writer with a master’s in English. He has been blogging about all things wine since 2009. In May of 2011, he started http://1stopwineblogshop.com/1stopwineblogshop.com, which also has a little direct-consumer accessibility that he plans to develop. Then in January 2012, he started http://bottledaux.com/, his second, and far more literary, blog. Mike also writes a lot of spoken word poetry and many other erratic entries that he leaves off the blog. He lives in Santa Rosa with his wife and son.
Email him: firstname.lastname@example.org; find him on Facebook at http://facebook.com/mikeslognoblog and Twitter @Madigan529.