Whisky Wind-down, 6: Rest Ye Weary Dead

A bottle of The Sexton single malt Irish whisky sits next to a glass filled with same, on a mantel with red holiday garland.

Today’s dram: The Sexton, single malt Irish whisky

Today’s tasting notes: Aroma is sweet and woodsy. Flavor is smooth and slightly sweet, with a warming bite in the finish.

It’s different. I don’t drink a lot of Irish single malts — they’re not terribly common, compared to Scottish single malts — but I enjoy one now and again, especially as they are a departure from standard Irish whisky. This one reminds me a bit of Highland Scottish whisky; probably I’m drawing that comparison from the sherry cask aging used here.

All in all, it’s enjoyable; I’ll probably keep this around for a cold night by the fire. Or, perhaps, I’ll fill a flask for company on a particular walk.

Today’s thoughts: The bottle lore on this one speaks of a graveyard by the River Bush, from which you can sometimes detect the aroma of distilling spirits.

It’s been awhile since I’ve walked a graveyard, but it was an old hobby of mine.

It’s an autumn sort of hobby, the sight of nature in decline serving to accentuate the stark stone reminders that mark our mutual finish line.

Works in winter, too, though. Then the cold breeze bites and the empty trees shiver, and everything says your time will come, too.

Many years I’ve sought such places in these final days of the year, when the festivities fast fade and the year’s last gasp is in the air.

It’s quite the melancholy week — a transitory time fit for reflecting upon the expiring year, all its good, all its ill.

It all starts again soon enough.

Today’s toast: To the dead: beyond the need for a dram, past all ambitions great or small, gone from the wheel.

Whisky Wind-down, 11: Longest Night

A bottle of Writer's Tears whisky sits next to a filled glass and Christmas Cthulhu.

Today’s dram: Writer’s Tears

Today’s tasting notes: This is smooth enough, with just enough rough edges. And maybe it’s my imagination, but is there a touch of salt there? Seems appropriate. Not much aroma. Mild malt.

Today’s thoughts: Solstice. The longest night. From here, the days only get longer. More’s the pity.

Today’s toast: To darkness.

Spring Forth … I’ll Be Right Behind You

The vernal equinox is perhaps my least favorite day of the year, if not in an absolute sense — I’ll certainly have worse days than this — then at least philosophically. 
Today is the day I stare ahead to months of longer, warmer days. 
… to clouds of choking pollen. 
… to sweating. 
… to smog. 
…  to enduring the giddiness of every frolicking, happy person who loves the sun. 
You know how Seasonal Affective Disorder affects people who dislike winter? Yes, there is an opposite of that.