Monday, December 06, 2010

A solitary walk on a fine fall day in Portland, Oregon

Eastbound, Hawthorne Bridge
For the sun to be so proud at this time of year seems a good omen.  I could not resist the allure and, freed of all responsibility for the day, set my feet to wandering.
Luxury apartment living (for squirrels) on Portland's enchanting waterfront
Everything was out on Sunday. Old Man Hood was glowering over in the east, his blue-lined greatcoat brilliant in the sun.  He was a marvel to behold.  I couldn't find a vantage that did sufficient tribute to his glory and so declined to affront his dignity with a less-than-deferential photo.  If you were about at all on Sunday, you undoubtedly saw him yourself.

A sad memory on the Burnside Bridge
The East Wind came blustering in, boisterous, but not unfriendly.  She'll be back again soon and most probably, she won't be in such generous spirits.

The key in the tree
I saw a key hanging in a sapling maple that was dropping into slumber.  The key had the air of destiny about it and I knew not to touch it.  I sensed a confluence of paths, a great junction in the honeycomb tunnels of fate.  But my path remained apart.
Down away south, looking across Hawthorne Bridge toward the new development.  That's Marquam Bridge in the middle distance; you can see Ross Island Bridge beyond.
Sunday was a mighty fine fall day.  The sun was so kind that I counted myself compensated, at least partially, for the Summer that Wasn't.  I walked through this fine city of ours, and I felt blessed and maybe a little proud.  And since I never want to get too proud, I read Shelley. 
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

1 comment:

Ridwan said...

Sweet post. I love those beautiful PDX days.

It is just the other 360 or so ... just jiving my brother.

Portland is beautiful wet or dry.