The last day at the winery, bittersweet, dry, left a bristly
tannic feeling in my mouth and a sharp hit of acid in the back of my jaw. The wine is ready for the next step, to wait. The work is done, and so am I, temp work is
so odd like that. The winery has gone
from empty, to garnished, to overflowing crammed maze of large heavy
containers, to juice, to barrels, to quiet.
Overworked equipment now hangs deep cleaned on hooks and racks on the
walls, to remain there until it gets cold, then warm, then cool again. Settling out and leaving only a few murmurs
of life, the wine is put to bed in confined dark barrels, only to be stirred
every week or every other to make sure it doesn't get too comfortable. The wine is ready for the next step, to wait. It’s hard to leave.
