Tulips and forget-me-nots, ancient bottles of Petite Sirah, soup made by Mom, broken hearts that may someday mend.
Ahhh, Wednesday in the garden of the mind, in the dark, with a cold front bearing down upon us. Winter is coming.
A few nights ago I had a dream about the "first love". For the duration of the dream I was innocent, the world was farther away from me, it didnt touch me so much. The heart was stronger, but lighter, and less supple than it is now. It was such a sweet, sweet moment. Did it ever exist?
What was your first-love from the world of wine? Was it Boones Farm or Bordeaux, Thunderbird or Muller-Thurgau? Blue Nun or Pio Cesare?
If I could find a wine as sweet as that first kiss, with the aroma of that perfume she wore. A little cherry, a warm sunflower blossom, delicate powder and the young skin whose chemistry made all of that into an indelible memory that I have yet to find in all these years, tasting and breathing in the bouquet of thousands of wines. Never yet.
To the young kids, sommeliers and career builders, master sommelier and master of wine hopefuls, those of you who might think getting that certificate will lead you, solely, to a life of fame and fortune.
Take a moment. Put away the PDA's and the Ipods. Go outside and take a walk around your block, wherever you are. Every 10 feet, close your eyes and open up your olfactories. Your ancient sense, the one only you have with only your unique set of memories.
Breathe deep, and hold.
And breathe out.
And open your eyes, and walk into your new world.