Good morning and welcome to another hot and humid day. I expect summer has finally decided to arrive in full. I also suspect it will end up hanging around until October. But that is just a guess. For now walking outside is like walking into a steam room. I’m trying to tell myself it is good for my pores. And staying inside as much as possible until it dries out a little bit. I am getting quite a bit dun because of it, which is nice. My writing schedule has had to go through so many adjustments as my necessary tasks switched up so I’m using a lot of the extra ime inside to just write. Which is nice. Speaking of writing, I suppose it is time to get to it. Ready? Good. Then let’s go.
I find this interesting. It feels like it fits into a story somewhere, but I don’t know where or which one. For now I’ll set it aside and think about it a bit more. Regardless, it is nice to have it in the file.
Thursday, June 10th: It tasted of springtime.
It tasted of springtime. For a moment I had no other words to describe it. I let the flavor of the wine dance on my tongue for a moment, closing my eyes and letting my thoughts wander. I could practically feel the warm summer sun on my skin and smell the newly opened blossoms on the air. For a brief second I could almost make myself hear the soft drones of the bees.
Then a log in the fire shifted and the vision wavered. I opened my eyes and inhaled deeply. The wine and spring time was still there, but the sneaky draft of icy wind teased the toes and despite the chimney being in working order, the stiff artic winds caused the house to smell of wood smoke.
It added a not unpleasant bck note to the wine. I looked over to Curtis. I could see the eager anticipation in his eyes as he tried to leave me be to form my own opinions. He was silent, but waiting. His sence of anticipation almost a physical presence in the small room.
Brought back to the task at hand, I lifted the glass to the light and tilted the glass this way and that, studying the clarity and how it shifted against the glass. The wine was an almost golden color with a tint of green around the edges if the light shifted just right. I marked down my official notes on the sheet we would add to the wine’s growing file, but for Curtis my comments were les official.
“Perfection,” I told him, setting the wine glass down on the small table and looking over to him.
Curtis slowly expelled a breath letting out his pent emotions in one long gust. “Really?” He asked.
“Really,” I replied. I knew how much this glass, this wine meant to him. Against the advice of his brothers, who declared the land he wanted unfit for wine growing, he purchased it and planted grapes different from their own and the rest of the family vineyards. As his vies grew and matured, he waited, experimented, and endured the taunting of the others.
The taunting was brutal and it wasn’t hard to see why. They were always content to accept what they were given. They never looked for more, tried for more than maintaining the line. As the family had always been quite dedicated and good at what they did, holding the line was better than many other’s efforts.
But Curtis was the true genius in the family. While they played the same melodies year after year, Curtis invented his own tunes. Variations on the original. The wines he blended for the family were always spectacular. A great deal of effort was spent in trying to keep him within the core of the family and not striking off to concentrate his efforts elsewhere.
‘It is where Edward went wrong,’ I thought as I assured Curtis that I was telling the truth. Edward never cared for his youngest son and While he did leave a great deal to Curtis in his will, he didn’t leave any of the vineyards. Curtis could either work for the family or take his chances striking out on his own.
Ten til Midnight 