Memories of a French blanc this xmas past

San Grigio makes a wine that smells of eulogy. When snuffed from glassware the wine produces within the brain a state of tactile introspection whose closest cousin is grief. It is the grief whose scent runs down the cheek of the day lilies in wreaths posed neck into shoulder against one another. But this wine's scent lacks the sense of loss and longing that marks a viewing in state. Only the finality remains common to both, carried in garland bouquets and glass bottles to the consciousness with the immediacy of a loud clap outdoors and just behind. Before it touches the lips this wine, brought aware of life, steals a lily from the wreath and pins it your breast.