23 February 2016
Several days ago, the wind at Trinoro started blowing hard: it reached a high pitch, blew two windows open in the night, and continued increasing to an ever louder howl, until I could feel it move through the grain of the stones that make up the house. In the morning I went into a gigantic sleep and when I woke, the storm had gone. There was silence, and an evening lit with golden light, pooled here and there on the ground.

Leading into the month’s full moon, I went to taste in the winery and, like every year, was astounded by how the wines from the last harvest had suddenly softened: merlot was swollen, blue and peppery from one vineyard, jolly and fresh from another; a cabernet franc was dense and deep, another was all minerals and flowers. I tasted everything, set aside my favorite wines, and mixed them into the new Tenuta di Trinoro 2015; when I got out in the large valley, it was dark again and a soft wind was coming from the north, through the gates of the new season.

The end of winter comes like this, in the cold and earlier than what they say; even if you don’t notice the change, wines suddenly mellow exaggeratedly, and sleep sweetens.

Extremae sub casum hiemis, tum mollissima vina, tum somni dulces et densae in montibus umbrae. – Virgil, Georgics.

– Andrea Franchetti

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