You stagger outside, a strange, glowing, yellow orb sets the sky on fire. Unique sensations hit you. Is that heat on your flesh? You squint your eyes and take a few more steps. Within 15 steps you’ve sunburnt any exposed skin. Within 30 steps you need to find a cool spot in the shade. An ice tea. Is that moss falling out of your ears?
Summer in Oregon. It doesn’t last long, but it’s beautiful. The first few years here in Oregon, after many years in southern California, I didn’t really pay attention to summer. We are now headed into our 5th year in Oregon and I don’t take it for granted anymore. Those other 10 months of the year are distant, moist memories.
The sun calls. My garden hums with insects and everything is blooming. The dogs are belly-up, next to the lavender. Our cat sleeps tucked under the hydrangea. My daughter spends all day in a bathing suit.
I hired two ex-Marines to pull me up to the third floor and sit me in my chair. They turn on the computer. They remind me, if something doesn’t get done everyday, they can take me to one of the many bridges here in Portland and, you know, accidents happen. I may be swimming with the salmon if I don’t get drawing. Or painting. Or writing. Or whatever it is I am supposed to be doing.
And so it goes.