What’s the weather like where you are? Is it wine-drinking weather? What does beauty mean for you? Are you a fog person, or a sun person? Do you like dry heat, or humidity? Do you like the snow, or the ocean? Where do you drink wine, and when? Morning, afternoon, evening, midnight? Are you a traditionalist? Meaning, white in the heat, red in the cold? Or are you just crazy for a certain thing, and don’t care what the weather is? Cool-climate Merlot by the pool, by the fire, by yourself, by the glass? What do you put in your backpack when you hike up a mountain to read ancient Zen poetry? When you go to the beach to watch for whales? When you go to the cafe, one of those great old-school ones with the newspaper on bamboo, what do you order? Surely a 375ml? But what? Carignane? What’s your love-making wine? What wine goes with Trip-Hop? What wine goes with fog?
Driving from Santa Cruz to Monte Bello, I learn its subtleties; like an Eskimo with snow, I have many words for fog; all relative. I am below the fog, inside the fog, above the fog.
Fog Haiku #1
What is solid, like mind,
which is not solid? What is
brief, like fog, like mind?
If taste is relative, how is Cabernet at 1500 feet, at 2300 feet? In space?
If it is true, as said by Kahlil Gibran, that life without love is like a tree without blossoms or fruit, then what explains my heart amongst these now-grapeless vines?
Meaning, if life is the vine, and love is the grape, then wine is the gift of our hearts unto you.