Stepping out of my tent, taking a sip of fresh mountain air, I greeted the birds and thought, what will we be doing today?
Mythology tells us the Greek gods ate ambrosia and drank nectar, giving them strength and immortality. But what sort of vessel could contain such a potion? No mere cup suffices.
THUMP! Thumpity thump, crash, thump thump. The rock (or rocks?) continued to bound down the cliff I was hanging onto as the seconds rolled on, reminding me how far I had to fall should I lose footing with the other foot as well. Once I found a new foothold to replace that sizable sounding rock I’d knocked free I looked around for my wife – she was somewhere below.
The young Kiwi schoolboy watched, first with a quizzical expression, then with astonishment. Soon it would be me that was surprised.
The invitation was unexpected.
Suppose that you wanted to enjoy a meadow with fresh flowers by the millions. When would be a good time to go looking? May? June?
Who says you need drugs to get high?
“Why are you taking a picture of that trashy old stump?” My wife wondered why I was so intent on getting a picture of a bit of flotsam that had washed up on the beach.
What do you do when the weather is unseasonably nice in February? Sit inside and admire it out the window? I think not.
How far would you travel just to see a single waterfall or hike a scenic path? A hundred miles? More? In the Portland metro area and eastbound 100 miles or so those extremes are not needed; the Columbia Gorge provides easy access to a wealth of views for all who live in the region.