New friend in this bottle, her dactyllic, coupled with some Miles Davis track I haven’t heard in a while. Not sure when the last time this track played here in my studio.
Nearly didn’t write, just wanted to be with her, this stark and seamless symmetry of a voice. Made myself come to kitchen counter, write to the soft oak insinuation, song, notes gentle in pulse and approach, soft but prominent and known, noticed and notably noted. All sip, songs, new tracks, enjoyed while my friend plays alongside a piano.
Day’s close, and this is just how I want to close, how I always will when writing to new wine shapes… wine, she always wants me interested, keeps me so, and reminds me that I just need to listen. As with music, this track, this jazz, lights low and telling me something nouveau about self.
When distracted by an email, a message, any communication direct or in-, she has me back within mere blinks. This note architecture and composition, something I needed. Something new. Not the same bottles I look for when at Oliver’s, or any other self quarter.
Glass nearly empty. Last sip…. Accumulated character and rime, syllables, snare and symbols. I needed a new beat. And I found one. For not much money. Surprise, alliteration without the annoyance of the same letter at each word’s beginning. Why I write about bottles I for self pour.. this… this precisely. Me at the counter not thinking much, and not pairing wine with Mr. Davis, but sipping and sensing a better sense of self in the sips, the measures’ set, me set seated at this kitchen counter ending the day like this. Not a review, or revelation, but disclosure of new reality, new pages and a me in wine that I didn’t before see. Now do, with a chance-chosen character. Not just fermented result in bottle, but speak, touch, lifted envision.