Chateau Musar 1970 Blanc

The color and turbidity of urine that signifies kidney failure and imminent death.  The nose is of bourbon, then of various woods, none safe for food storage, all weeping saps for resins and gums.  Oberon's sleeping woodland beard, roots and precious clays and purest red mud.  

Here time has shattered the phenolics into shards and reshuffled them into psychedelic array.  Familiar smells emerge momentarily, faces drawn onto clouds by the brain, strangers in crowds assimilated by the lazy brain into long-lost friends, lovers long left.  Here we have linalool and her ensuing cacophony of fruits and things, but really it is lin and then some seconds later lool swims by and the brain produces the na, fills in the gaps, avoids the uncomfortable position between the nose's truth and the frontal lobe's need for narrative.  This wine is a direct representation of Huxley's reducing valve metaphor from doors of perception.    Drinking it, I am an old man in an unfamiliar city, who keeps thinking he knows the way, but keeps bumbling into tiny pleasure gardens and luxurious apartments, welcomed everywhere.  I am uneasy but joyful, tears well up, I am grateful for the ones who spent time with me and all this gorgeous sunlight filtered through high leaves and greenhouse glass.  I am weary, I cannot tell pleasure from pleasure.