I spent my day transcribing Hafiz poems so I would have a place to remember them. Hafiz is good for a Monday; kindly poems about love and God seem to make those 6 a.m. wakeups easier. Oh, sure I did work as well, but who cares about that? Now I have a bock, and the day is over.
My shoulders ache far more than they ought to. I am thinking the ergonomics of my workspace is probably not a positive setup.
Fortunately, beer is a cure for aching muscles. (This statement has not been approved by anyone with authority.) The Heater Allen Hugo bock has a woody scent to it, almost like a fresh cut cedar. The flavors though are a little strange. My initial sips gave me something touched with woodsmoke and salt–which is about as unexpected a flavor as you could think of in a beer. Undaunted I kept drinking, as the picture evidences. (I tried to get another impression of the nose on this beer and ended up snorting a little liquid–do not do this. It hurts.)
The beer looses its head quickly, and has a very smooth mouthfeel that makes it easy to drink. There’s also a smoked flavor at the end that becomes a bit more pronounced as this warms up. However, nearly halfway through my pint I just cant say I’m fond of this beer. I don’t know why, but it just doesn’t gel with me. It feels like there are good elements here, but they don’t quite mesh.
It gets dark so quickly; the transition from 4p.m. to 4:30p.m. is a quick one. Pinkish skies are blotted out by cloud cover and sundown, with city lights starting to clamor for attention. I am queerly not in the mood to be alone; there seems to be a great deal to accomplish today, and I still have not mastered the trick of just sitting and enjoying myself. Perhaps that will be the goal for next week: to just be and enjoy. Or maybe I ought not to fight to relax, and just see what comes.