WTN: If the Shoe fits

[David M. Bueker]

2016 Rhys Syrah Horseshoe Vineyard - USA, California, San Francisco Bay, Santa Cruz Mountains (9/9/2020)
Sometimes a wine just puts up a wall. Wait a little while and cracks appear. Wait a little longer and the wall falls. That was this wine. On opening it was an impenetrable solid, a wall of smooth, black stone. A half hour later there was the tiniest bit of an opening, with black fruit and olive poking through. Ninety minutes later it all came tumbling down, and I was sitting by a wood fire, meat turning on a spit, rosemary branches being used to baste the juices, while people smoked pipe tobacco and told tales of vignerons lost to time. I could see the smoke rising from the fire, and feel the heat of the flames. There was a promise of a chill in the air, but not now, not yet.

Given the current, very strange occurrences here where that wine originated, that note sets off little fires in my mind that makes me wonder whether I dare come closer. I'm guessing it was good

[David M. Bueker]

It was very good, but a little melancholy. Kevin said they will harvest none of their Santa Cruz vineyards this year due to smoke damage.

I could feel the dagger twist. This day has been a blow

[Jenise]

The pictures from San Francisco yesterday were crazy. Yesterday morning I spoke to my brother who lives high up in Oakland, and it was painful to hear him describing the scene--the color of the sky, the lights of skyscrapers and cars below like at night, only it was 11 a.m.

Because I was in that subliminal realm, between sleep and wakefulness, at an unconscious level, I was blind-sided by a visceral sense of loss, and of grief when I first saw the sky yesterday morning at around 7am. At first I tried not to notice, then I realized what had passed through me, and that it was real. It haunted the day, which, as it passed, seemed more to be the night. I kept finding the thought in my mind that I'd been up all night. Exhausting

[David M. Bueker]

Because I was in that subliminal realm, between sleep and wakefulness, at an unconscious level, I was blind-sided by a visceral sense of loss, and of grief when I first saw the sky yesterday morning at around 7am. At first I tried not to notice, then I realized what had passed through me, and that it was real. It haunted the day, which, as it passed, seemed more to be the night. I kept finding the thought in my mind that I'd been up all night. Exhausting

It's all right Steve, it's life and life only!