It was a chilly February night, and the crowds had only begun to show up. The Portland Winter Light Festival was the draw and with a messy snowstorm in the forecast, this night was prime to be popular.
Carefully, I chose my steps. The herd of deer was out in an open field, as was I. Too sudden a movement and they’d spook, and I was trying to get as close as I could to take my shot.
Two or three more steps and another pause, a bit parallel, a bit closer. I’m taking care not to stare, to pretend I’m just doing my own disinterested thing. There were 14 in the herd. It would only take one to interpret my nonchalant amble as the stalking that it was and set the alarm. 40 yards away now.
There comes a time in every person’s life that a certain discussion needs to be had, either as the presenter of certain life-affirming facts, or as the recipient. While I suspect most of you gentle readers would consider yourselves well versed in these facts, perhaps today I can shed a new light upon them.
Yes, today we’re going to talk about the birds and the bees.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Ah, the joys of listening to a piledriver.
And how is that relevant to the serenity and contemplation one might find in a Chinese Garden? Read on.
The rainfall grew, starting softly to moisten the dried dirt and clay, then growing to create rivulets of water, streaming down the hills. But it was not a simple muddy brown runoff; yellows over there, maroons there, ochers, reds, oranges, greys, shades of brown from light tan to dark brown ran and collected. It was as if a giant Jackson Pollock had one too many drinks, and in his drunken stumble kicked over all the cans of paint in his studio.
Most folks in the United States have heard of the Land of Lincoln, state motto of Illinois, where famed President Abe Lincoln had his roots. But did you know there was a Sea of Lincoln?
I know how he felt. When you get a nice day in January in the Pacific Northwest, it’s not a time to be sitting on the couch. It’s come on already, let’s go!
Just as I glanced back up the trail, the feet of the fellow walking down it took off in a different direction than his mind intended and gravity played a cruel trick.
Ouch. Ice will do that to a guy.
Rockaway baby, on the seashore
When the wave breaks, the surf it will roar
When the day ends, the sun it will fall
And out will come tourists, camera and all
Here in the good old USA, numerous folk are “enjoying” the style of winter that is often considered the exclusive domain of International Falls, Minnesota and their robust Canadian friends further north. Temperatures are brutally cold, well south of freezing, accompanied by ye olde insidious wind chill and ample amounts of that white stuff that wanted to be rain before Mr. Freeze squeezed its little liquid heart. While the Canucks and Minnesotans may shrug it off, for those less accustomed to this winter thuggery I offer a Spring Break – a reminder of things to come.