I had forgotten

I had forgotten how beautiful Portland is. The neighborhoods, the tree-lined streets, lawns covered with daffodils and newly emerging crocus -splashing a Wednesday in white, lavender, and so-deep purple. The majesty of Douglas firs, I can see some out of every attic window, the almost perfect Christmas-tree-like symmetry of other firs or cedars or whoever they are.

It was raining when I got up later than usual to sit on the cushion Wednesday, the Zen question, “Who is hearing the rain?” wildly relevant. “You and me and rain on the roof.” And it rained through the day. But there were sun breaks, the sky clearing in spots, splotches of blue, light streaming through, the Portland day glimmering with glorious gold until the clouds and rain filled in again. People everywhere, strolling, my soul sister Janis – “Get it while you can.” I’d forgotten how special these sun breaks are.

Mostly, at least so far, I had forgotten the everywhere, all-over-ness of moss: splotched on sidewalks, running up front walks, climbing almost every tree, covering roofs. Green, green. So green. So substantially green. Kermit would be impressed.

I sure am.