A Desmond Pinot Noir …

Bill dropped off a mixed case from his portfolio.  I’m in study, already a follower of his bottled work I opened the Pinot last night.  The ’13.  I felt music from the initial touch and impression, and impressionistic imprint with the soft and succinct speak of the texture and raspberry dashed from one direction and time to next.

Pinot Noir, or translations like this, entail jazz.  Profess their position and profession in emphatic etches.  A loving and welcomed distraction to the new composition of the world… staying in one room and working and calling.  Given new solace and note-sets.

She reminds me to keep it simple, everything in the interaction.  Don’t overthink the sips, how the wine looks and the category of color.  Don’t worry about that, she reminds me.  Chocolate presents itself in the web of reality in this sip, then the next, then it walks alongside a cinnamon-vanilla helix.

I’m excessively contemplating and inwardly debating.  She orders a stop.  I do, and sip more.  Wondering where I am in this wine’s perception, where I’m going in my wined story.

I leave her alone for fifteen minutes, maybe one or two more.  Lift glass again.  New story.


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