Opus 1one, the holy grail of American wine, forever in the new world oenological folklore. Repeatedly challenging the throes of the domineering French palateers. Easiest way to describe it...its the fur coat of outer garments. Opus has been on my radar for the better part of this decade, never had the company, festivity, nor opportunity to enjoy a sample...until this past Wednesday...
My week had its unexpected/expected personal family tragedy complicating any sort of planning for outings and activities, nonetheless with a little chance and luck...maybe! just maybe my lips maybe be blessed with a love from our wine gods...
My mourning began early. Sharp black tailored suit with a striped black and blue tie and scarf...dressed to the nines...as if Italian silk melted onto my flesh outlining my broad shoulders, narrowing down to my waist and streaming along my long legs. I met my family just about nine a.m. (just after their breakfast). Harold was waiting for us outside. One by one we got in, and so our final slow drive began.
We met with George one last time, he seemed as if he finally found his peace...serene...quiet...content.
George went first, we followed with Harold sanctioning our way to an eternal temple of emotions. Whisked right in we all sat...with prayer...should come hope and acceptance...(g)relief
All for the living
Life truly is like a shell, ever so delicate yet so beautiful with an enthralling and illuminating white energy...the soul much like a yolk..sitting inside...hatched and dropped into the earth liberating a lost spirit...into a shrouded mystery of paradise
Where one quest ends another begins with one simple text mid morning...still interested in Opus? The invite to Utopian bliss was accepted...should there have been any doubt? Dress appropriate for the ascension was my request (if possible); Joe made due with what was available. Ninety 90 Minutes Later: With the dark haired dragon lady steering shot gun, we navigated to Joe's coordinates...target located! Mystified and befuddled, Joe escorts us out...i assure him its no time for apologies, insecurities, nor pettifogging. We depart and arrive as planned, joined by the rest of the crew...all dressed in black...with the 1one exception (no need to point your finger at ---> Joe)
We sit and have fish, as all fishermen do. Anchor drops, Joe and I take out the dingy...there is an oasis on the horizon. We paddle against a soft current...in life's struggles, this was certainly not one. Fifteen nautical miles later we run aground...waiting in the distance... near distance sits the seducer, swirling in his glass silo, silently swaying side to side...in a deep red garment
he first offers aromas of blackberry, plum, coca, dried cherries and hazelnut...
convinced
absolutely
On a flannel-like savory road there is this vibrant blackberry and black cherry tang with hints of dark chocolate and black licorice that just tease and tickle...herbs linger on the finish
Yummmmm I had been baited into my own afterworld
Once my senses regained their consciousness...my voyage was about to take its own new course this Saturday night...
Dusk peered its darkening skies
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