singing a song

this Douglas Fir, here in a yard at the corner of NE Shaver and NE 10th.

there’s something about going off into some wild place – right across the street; down a deserted grocery store aisle. The day brightens. This life brightens. Hope swirls through a late, cool morning – greens, blues, browns, and yellows – and as has always been the case, leaves flutter down. By the cans of chili, the rolls of paper towels; under the pine needles.

maybe a scrub jay paints its life way up on the top of the magnificent tree. Maybe it thinks, “What isn’t a palette?”

I know I think that.