Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Distilling Summer: Pedernales Cellars' Reds

A washed out blue sky
A pale winter sun
Pedernales Cellars in early March
Streaming wisps of paper-thin clouds
Stretch out above the rolling hills
Swelling with soft brown grasses
Dancing beneath a soft southern breeze.

A kiss of warmth breaks the cold:
Winter’s embrace softens, loosens just enough
To allow a bit of gold to sneak in
Among the last clutches of green leaves
Turning olive on the branches
Before they are swept to the hard earth below.

I sip on memories of August heat
radiating in the last flames of ruby at sunset
and fighting back the cool creeping depths
of midnight purple night:

Distilled summer caught in each grape
Crushed into a liquid gem.

Two of the wines that inspired the poem.
 *This poem was inspired by a day drinking a number of red wines while sitting on the porch at Pedernales Cellars. The view is always inspiring, but on this day, I saw something very different. This was just after the big freeze and icing in the Hill Country and San Antonio. That Saturday had grown considerably warmer (compared to just that Thursday), but winter was still the prominent season. Somehow, though, the sunny day and the red wines -- I believe we were drinking a Texas Family Reserve and Tempranillo Reserve -- fought hard against the cold and the future freeze that would be just days away.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

The Allure of the Dark Images of Fly Gap's Lights Out

Lights Out in normal light

Saturated earth, rich and dark, spills
out between golden and green grasses.
A smell of life not yet born
stirs me, draws me forward.

Limestone crests break free
from the heavy expanses of fresh turned soil.
Gritty and strong, they stand
For me to grasp and hold tight.

From purple to black, the sky deepens,
swells to embrace the horizon and beyond.
The night settles about me,
gently drapes me:

I close my eyes, relax,
Lights Out under blacklight
let the moment overcome me. 

**NOTE: This poem was written just after tasting Dank: Lights Out from Fly Gap Winery. The wine is made from 71% Syrah from Mason country and the rest Mourevdre. The Mason County Syrah is the dominant factor here. For me, the wine smell and tasted like Mason. This poem tries to capture that.