Fine Wine and the Test of Time*

I did something significant

Back in December

I remember what I did

But the reason

I don’t remember 

Never have I written routinely 

Always thought writing for the sake of writing was stupid 

Boredom hits when it does

And I don’t want to document it as such

For why remind yourself of lacklustre details

Why bother retain grapes of poor flavour

Words preserving less than bland sour

Well kept would only remain subpar

No reason to invest in poor inputs either 

Perhaps for fact and for art

Are wrong ways to think about it 

As we are too busy thinking about bottled wine

And how it will never satisfy our tastes

We forget that we too are fermenting 

In a world of change 

Flavour is not some shelved idea 

In that forest of a fallen tree

It exists through the perception of

A living, dying, renewing

Orchestra of taste buds 

Waiting to be played

Plans and predictions

Basing decisions on patterns and experience 

Set precedent, stay consistent and move on

That’s how most live and learn 

As empirically fuelled as can be

Or so we believe 

Yet we always forget 

Science is moved forward only 

By the admission of ignorance 

And if we fail to update changing premises 

There is little difference

To dogmatic practice 

So before you get caught up 

With whether writing will yield any fruit 

Do it anyway 

Not for the fruit

But for the seed of discovery

For you never know 

Whether the detail you once dismissed 

Will be of interest 

To future you

Overburdened with 

Too much to remember 

Do yourself a favour 

So you don’t have to kick yourself 

For not documenting better