marie thibault 'la roue qui tourne' pet-nat rosé + chips
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loire valley, france
swedish berries n cream, forest moss under barefoot, iodine, juniper bonfire, ur grandma's wool sweater, riverbank picnic, licking a chalk board
if i were the sort of person to believe in heaven i think it would have to be just exactly the same as this world but instead of plain old boring water, instead of lacklustre, spiritless, quotidian water, everything water was sparkling rosé - the sea a roiling bath of sudsy pink crémant, the tips of waves mauve-hued crowns of frothy bubbles, waterfalls would plunge into lucid, blushing grottos, creeks and rivers all sloshing with bubblegum foam, go ahead, take a dip. when u turn on the tap to wash ur hands (wash ur hands!!!) it would sound every time like the cork popping on a zippy bottle of champers and u would wash all the dirt under ur nails and all ur covid worries away with a steady stream of shell-pink bubbles n then u'd grab a glass!!
every bottle of wine comes with a small bag of miss vickie's chips