The Arista cannon has always had me chasing different wines and looking at wine, more immediately Pinot, with more awe and regard.  Last night opening the ’13 Anderson Valley and excavating my own thoughts around the Burgundian beacon.  Chasing her music and way, sung waves, and curvaceous craze.  The notes were not just nuanced and believable with rich with sexy palate rhetoric and reason.

Anderson Valley, for long a terrain and stage made, and noted in wishlist notes here in the scribble quarter of mine that I need to spend more time.  The encased character makes me feel not a drop of worry or loss in not being there, as there now, sipping, from the round and jazzy cherry chords then the following subtle quietness of a cinnamon insinuation.  There’s calm and vocal composition about here.  Nothing evasive, and nothing too immediate, nothing rushed.  Haven’t had an Arista project in a while here in my little note-cove.  The night couldn’t be more telling and convincing of its and my composition, the wine’s dactylic decision….  2013, know where I was but no more, and the fog, the ode of the glass’ notes….  What I need before closing the day, writing a new book, cannon, notebooks, thoughts and random fermented framings, musings.  An alchemical and convincing light from a Pinot flight I thought I new thoroughly… but Arista continues to educate me on the ways of soil, the Westside Road tide and throw…