A path of stone and concrete took me to the river. No rain fell in the moment, but the city was water-saturated and the rain not far off; a taking of breath between inundations. Gutters choked on fallen leaves and the air was sweet with rot.
Light dies swiftly at this time of year. It was daytime as I started across Hawthorne Bridge. By Waterfront it was night. The sky whispered rain walking north along the river-wall. Morrison Bridge arced the changeful void.
The sated river lolled and cast back the stark and beautiful audacity of the City of Roses. Bright little city, if not happy, at least comfortable in the rain.
As I beheld her, my heart swelled full as the river. But the river sang low. "An' she purty tonight? An' she purty?"
Mock, if you must, Willamette. We'll rise and fall and you'll just push on past. But we make a pretty little spark against the void. If I do say so myself.
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