What an intoxicating font of inspiration (forgive me) . . . funnily enough, I lived in the heart of Napa Valley when I took my first "real" writing class and met a woman who was there because she was a wine writer by profession and was desperate to do something else besides describe wine in notes of citrus peel, honey suckle, or whatever. What about bird shit, spider webs, and road dust, we joked . . .