Here on the coast in Central California where I live, fall is our summer. The sun has been out for the past few days and the weather has been warm and balmy. Perfect for sleeping naked. Today's Ass Wednesday is a selection of morning moons.
It took me awhile to notice the dog. Ha!
One of my favorite things to do is run my hand lightly over his his ass and feel the peach fuzz.
Lately, I've been obsessed with this wine. I dream of the effervescence and color of the Pinot Noir Blanc de Noir Sparkling Wine of Richard Grant. And the taste is amazing. With a peachy pink shade, the wine is made in the traditional Methode Champenoise style. But the one thing I love most about this wine is the history of the grapes. Dr. Richard Grant, the winemaker, brought cuttings from the Wrotham Clone from southeast England and planted two acres in the Napa Valley. It has been determined by scientist from Davis that the Wrotham Clone has exactly the same DNA as Pinot Noir. The vine was found growing in the small village of Wrotham in Kent and was at least two hundred years old and was originally brought to England by the Romans two thousand years ago! It retails for around $40.
I also have been dreaming about my childhood growing up in the Napa Valley. I loved the old house we lived in at the time and spent hours exploring and playing in the Napa Creek. One winter we watched as the waters rose and almost flooded our neighborhood. We lived downstream of the old Christian Brothers Mont La Salle winery on Mt. Veeder which is now the home of the Hess Collection that I talked about in my previous wine entry. That winter the end of a large redwood fermentation barrel floated down and was captured by myself and a few of my friends. All spring and summer we had hours of fun using it as a raft. If my memory serves me, it was about six to eight feet in diameter and about three to four inches thick, so it floated well if you kept the weight to the center. As the summer came to an end, the creek would dry up and swimming holes became scarce and we would sometimes have to drag it to a new hole. If I close my eyes I can still smell the bay and sycamore trees and the smell of the water as it gave way to pond scum and algae. Eventually, there would be algae covered river rock everywhere in the creek bed. That was also the summer we found the dead sheep carcass hanging from our rope swing at Devil's Gorge. The gorge was formed at the junction where two creeks merged creating a mini Grand Canyon of the the sandstone. The cliffs around the creek where about fifteen to twenty feet high and there were shallow caves with the remnants of old fires and sometimes the occasional pile of human feces. But that summer someone had killed a sheep and hung the dirty and bloodied carcass on our rope swing we had tied to an old oak branch the summer before. There was a brigade of about five or six of us. Some were on the shore and two or three of us navigated the round raft. As we approached the Gorge we saw the dead sheep swinging lazily. There was a hush as we made our way slowly towards it. I had seen and smelled small dead animals and plenty of frogs, but this was the largest dead thing I had ever seen. The wool was matted with dried blood and dirt and it hung by one of the hind legs. No one spoke a word. We looked around the tops of the cliffs to see if we were being watched. It felt like an evil warning of some kind. One of the braver fellows in our motley crew, picked up a stick and poked at it. It must have been fresh because no foul stench seemed to emanate from it. Later when I read Lord of the Flies, the moment the boys discover the boar's head reminded me of that day at Devil's Gorge. I'd like to say that we did the humane thing and took it down, but unfortunately being boys we continued the desecration. We had floated a considerable distance downstream that day, so instead of dragging the barrel end back to my house, we hid it on the shore. When we returned a few days later it was gone as was the sheep carcass. The swing was still there, but the water was so low it would not have been any fun to swing into it, so we would just swing back and forth. Pushing one another and spinning until we were dizzy and delirious.
Eric over at Just Beautiful Men put this montage of films about men and water together about a year ago. It was around the same time that he stopped blogging it appears. If anyone knows what happened to him, I'd love to know. We seem to have the same sensibilities when it comes to movies, men and water. I love the male form in water. Whether clothed or not, a wet guy is a hot guy.The montage includes scenes from one of my favorite movies, Ridley Scott's 1996, The White Squall. With Jeff Bridges and a very young and gorgeous, Scott Wolf.
The mist hung just off the shore. The sun reflected off the sea and the fog. The waves in motion. The surf white with foam and dark gray. Sea birds overhead. The smell of salt air. My heart heavy and longing. Once again I returned to the sea to clear my mind.
One boy threw the football as two others jockeyed for position to receive the pass. Their shorts hung teasingly off their hips, one showing a slight crack of his ass and their naked torsos glistened with a light sweat. They laughed as they pushed each other aside to catch the ball. Swift and agile, their feet dug into the sand as they swayed back and forth, one attempting to tackle the other and the other dodging when he caught the ball. They stretched and moved with the grace of dancers; the sand flying in the air around them. They tumbled in an embrace as they fell together on the beach. Laughing, they separated and brushed the sand off their muscled bodies. I felt a tug at my heart for them. Was it lust? No, I longed to be them. To once again play hard with no regard for the aches, pains and limitations of age; completely unselfconscious as you focus on the play and the game. Laughing wildly with the insouciance of youth. In my mind I joined them in the game as we played our game of catch and tackle and it brought a smile and a tear to my eye.
It was exactly a year ago that I took a break from blogging due to many changes that occurred in my life and when I came back I gave it all I had. I have put my heart and my soul out there for anyone who might care to take a look. Regretfully, I have decided to take another hiatus to refresh my heart and soul. I would like to give a heartfelt thanks of gratitude to those who have supported and been faithful readers over the past year. I'm sorry, but I just don't have it in me lately.
In Japan there is no real word for good-bye. Sayonara has the hope of meeting once again. So, I will bid you Sayonara.
"An artist has always gotta be in the state of becoming"... Bob Dylan...
"If you advance confidently in the direction of your own dreams and endeavor to live the life which you have imagined, you will meet with a success unexpected in common hours." Henry David Thoreau. All material herein is written and copyrighted by me, unless otherwise noted. Please leave your comments. I love to hear from you. You can email me at: firstname.lastname@example.org
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