Throughout my few, but very plentiful escapades in Austin, I have come to the conclusion that 1. I like it and 2. There’s sweet places to go. I’m usually there with a friend who more or less knows where he’s going and has never done me wrong in chosing a place to show me.
Yesterday night was one of the award winning evenings of the season. Went to Austin to meet a friend for some wine; I have had my share, but usually just stuff I buy myself. This place, Uncorked, satisfied my want for wine that evening. Honestly at that point, I wasn’t even worried about the wine, I was more concerned with who I was with, but the wine made everything more fun. I had a flight of sweet whites which was just what I needed to ease my mind of its insecurities. He noticed; good man. Back to the wine…it was great, I would definitely go there again and bring friends and turn them on to it. Let me just say: I do love wine. Love it. Mmm…wine.
After that, my wine escapades were far from over. The Austin Wine Festival was underway and there was NO WAY I was going to pass that up. So two friends and I bought tickets and were on our way. I got there and was in an Unterteilung of heaven. I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is in English…deal with it. Anyway, there were wines there from every winery in Texas. I was sincerely impressed with the outcome. Aside from the hot and sweaty weather, today was a good day filled with Pei Wei and lots of good Wine.
Ode to Wine…
Day-colored wine,
night-colored wine,
wine with purple feet
or wine with topaz blood,
wine,
starry child of earth,wine,
smooth as a golden sword,
soft as lascivious velvet,
wine,
spiral-seashelled and full of wonder,
amorous,
marine;
never has one goblet contained you,
one song, one man,
you are choral, gregarious,
at the least, you must be shared.
At times you feed on mortal memories;
your wave carries us
from tomb to tomb,
stonecutter of icy sepulchers,
and we weep
transitory tears;
your glorious spring dress is different,
blood rises through the shoots,
wind incites the day,
nothing is left of your immutable soul.Wine stirs the spring,
happiness bursts through the earth like a plant,
walls crumble,
and rocky cliffs,
chasms close,
as song is born.
A jug of wine, and thou beside me in the wilderness,
sang the ancient poet.
Let the wine pitcher add to the kiss of love its own.
My darling, suddenly
the line of your hip
becomes the brimming curve
of the wine goblet,
your breast is the grape cluster,
your nipples are the grapes,
the gleam of spirits lights your hair,
and your navel is a chaste seal
stamped on the vessel of your belly,
your love an inexhaustible
cascade of wine,
light that illuminates my senses,
the earthly splendor of life.
But you are more than love,
the fiery kiss,
the heat of fire,
more than the wine of life;
you are
the community of man,
translucency,
chorus of discipline,
abundance of flowers.
I like on the table,
when we’re speaking,
the light of a bottle
of intelligent wine.
Drink it,
and remember in every
drop of gold,
in every topaz glass,
in every purple ladle,
that autumn labored
to fill the vessel with wine;
and in the ritual of his office,
let the simple man remember
to think of the soil and of his duty,
to propagate the canticle of the wine.
