Like a young satyre just come of age, Æstas sheds the immaculate poise of spring. Blood-red sumac blossoms curl skyward, a crown shorn of their downy buds. Antlers pare from their velvet, baring tempered strength, a decorated insignia armoring the wood.
[ pronounced īst•as ]
Æstas unfurls itself along the palate like the heady, brambled cascade of late summer’s blossoms. Woody with hardened thorns, yet fragrant with buds and blooms, Æstas leads with the bright astringency of sumac while delving deep into the dark breadth of roasted roots and piquent seeds.
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