So I just ~ Just opened a bottle of my Pinot Noir that has been silently sitting in a bottle for about 6 months, I could not explain to people how it tasted in conversation, but I could paint them a great visual
As I sit here, blank canvas before me; just awaiting each word to be typed upon. Glass of pinot, thoughts racing a mile a minute, yet this face bares a concentrated stare of shear content.
There is one thing that can be said about home made bliss, formented by the days of the now past, that is ; commercial wines will never compare. It's not about the alcohol content and how fast it goes to the brain, nor does it have anything to do with where the grapes came from. It's about time, the time that is nothing more then a distant memory.
As the days progressed,so did the birth, life and aging of this wine that died on the vine. To the creator, months of his life are now gone, but with each sip, he can slowly recall those events which took place in his life, both in the hours he took to care for the wines and also how he dealt with the life that was all around him.
There were great storms, manic fits of laughter, times of reflection and even moments best left to the god's themselves. Bountiful feasts, savored gardens and tides that crashed upon the lands of retreat. Endless nights, countless stars and even lovers that found comfort in seculded cars. New births welcomed the arrival of future souls, and the angel of demise took those ready to cross that line.
Dreams were witnessed, nightmares were recalled; hopes were created and even failures were part of the global plan. Children ran free in the tireless dawn, and parents tucked in thier young with the fall of the sun.
One could spend hours talking to another of how a wine is made, but it could never compare to an open bottle, two glasses and conversations that extend far into the void of immaculate imagination.
