Portland U

Umbrella-less
Tuesday, January 24
Except for a little early morning fog, today was a perfectly clear, sunny day. A good day for some outdoor wandering. Nothing particular eventful happens, there are no insights, and no magic (unless you are from Portland and you go back and re-read the first line, then the day qualifies as miraculous!)

My route takes me along parts of the same path that I rambled with the Mazamas a week ago. I notice some sidewalk art a few blocks from home. Now there is a Northwest endangered species you don't hear about a lot! Not only is the sun the subject of the chalk drawing, but I see that it contributes as well. The thing I sometimes miss here is not so much the sun, but the designs it makes by casting shadows.

Eventually I get to Washington Park which holds a few of Portland's treasures--the Rose Garden, Japanese Garden, and Hoyt Arboretum. Walking through the park I turn right where I was planning to go left and I see a broken metal violin lying on the ground, then a crumpled metal child's shoe...Oh, it art! Then I follow the trail: broken glasses, an opened suitcase lying upside down, and I see this is the path to the Holocaust Memorial. And I spend some time reading the story on the book-like memorial, describing the great darkness from the last century.

At the Rose Garden, the bushes are stripped bare and in their beds for the winter. The view of Mt. Hood (I think) is glorious on this clear day. I bypass the Japanese Garden and meander through some of the Hoyt Arboretum trails. At first, the encroaching development around the park and the noise of construction is distracting, but I eventually get to the Overlook Trail and it's turns into a pleasant walk on a spring-like day. I check out the blooming witch hazel trees and stop briefly at the Vietnam Veterans Living Memorial before making my way to the MAX train stop, which is a 710 foot elevator ride down. (The display tells you the elevation as you drop.) The platform has a few geological displays that I look at and then the wind in the tunnel kicks up signaling the approach of the train.

Walking home from my stop, one woman berates another who is coming out of a restaurant for having left her dog outside so long, and that's as exciting as the journey gets. I go back to my apartment and enjoy the last bit of daylight. I don't know when we'll get another day like this. Later in the evening, I am walking home and seeing stars in the sky, a rare sight. I pass a man who appears to be inebriated, sitting on the sidewalk."Sir," he begins, and I am sure he is going to ask for money, but he just wants me to know: "I've been sitting here everyday, but I like the sunny days...the sunny nights...it makes it all worth it."