Sea Level
The onset of winter brings on meditation, reflection. Time to consider and evaluate. A state of mind not an event.
Getting new again
A reminiscence of a summer job at The Journal in Portland, before the digital age. The nostalgia of working with lead ingots for the linotype connects the author with his friend Carl. The physical demands of the job and the fond memories shared with older friends highlight a proud era before newspapers became part of the past.
Urge
Out the front window, the first round of blooms on therhododendron are already fading. Iris blossoms hang wilted. The harbingers ofspring. The sky has been a high-blue fordays. The maple leaves flicker in the chill- breeze. For the most part, it does not reach the rocker on the porch.When it pauses, the air warms quickly, heating…
Spring
High, murky grey sky. The sun a weak spot of light in the dark grey sky. Rhododendrons in red and salmon are colorized spots in an otherwise dull landscape. An old picture brought to life. It is vaguely dreary. It is a good day to clean the freezer. I’m not a hoarder, though I do…
Empty
Empty The wind was blowing as the day began, gusts that rattled the leaves left over from last fall and rolled them from under the bushes. The sky was clear blue, empty, for a while, until clouds started scudding in. Soon it was a gray-white ceiling that felt .. empty. The weather was cold, with…
Quiet Surprise
In the half light of almost dawn, rain spattered on the pavement, rhododendron leaves shivered under the impact of heavy drops, quietly. No bird song. The steady background thrum of rain on leaves and sidewalk. Dark grey clouds over the eastern mountains split and revealed a just -rising sun, transforming dawn to day. A silent…
Simple Symphony
The morning was clear, crisp, and white. Unusual for rain sodden Oregon in January. It was too cold to actually snow; rather, a fine, almost invisible, mist of ice particles drifted like fog. The ground was getting whiter, a blinding glare that seemed to absorb sound. A cold white silence. Age adds layers of experience.…
Mole End (Moley comes home)
The sky is dark grey nearly every day now. Through the empty tree branches occasional black clouds slurry patches of heavy rain. Winter is settling in, requiring books, and fires, and steaming cups and bowls by fires or under duvets on the couch. It’s a time for togetherness and being alone, for regrets and reminiscences,…
Denouement
One of the first pieces I wrote was about my father and I going off to work on a winter morning. It was bitterly cold. I was off to deliver papers and dad was walking to work. My father was walking because one of our cars was in the shop and he wanted to leave…
Moving Slow
We are moving slowly as time and health allow. Rest and naps take priority and often happen on the spur of the moment. We do not have a timeline for finishing the move. I’m not sure we have a definition of what finishing looks like. Someone said that packing boxes become furniture after a time.…
barelyaboomer 