A Rioja wine clad in gold, and shining red. Uncorking floods your nostrils with scents. Sips stay alive and continue dark. Bring me any world.
Matter transforms into a spirit, visions conquer, everything is possible, everything can vanish. The truth in wine isn't timeless, it must be enjoyed now.
|Don Jacobo Reserva 1991|
The alchemist Don Jacobo leaned against the heavy oak of his cellar's door. His heart was pounding with expectation, his ears hearing the thunder and explosions behind the door. The powers that were set loose in the deep vaults were developing a new life. Burning arrows crushed into the stone walls. The roots of the ancient rockbed were shaking. The oak behind Don Jacobo's back was trembling as he had awaited all his life - awaited fearing the realisation of his thoughts...
old wizard sleeps under his tree
the wizard splits into all.
the fairies are grasping his hair
and on the branches:
the earth rolls into itself;
gods are starting to move slowly:
the wizard sleeps with fairies in his hair
his sleep bends, drops on surface
the wizard rests
Don Jacobo tears himself off the door with reluctance, feeling a pleasure born of a perfect achievement that makes you feel a sinner. With his omnipotence at his feet Don Jacobo saw an olive tree that didn't ask for a place to grow. It was standing against the dark sky as Don Jacobo had known all his life. It's roots were so deep in the earth the Jacobos had inhabited that it had stopped to ask anyone why it had ever come there.