Spending out the ink

Got caught in it today

Springtime in Portland. An excellent time to clean the nib.  First step:  spend out the ink.

Anyone who has lived any length of time in western Oregon will tell you that the weather here at this time of year is unpredictable.  Pacifica is temperamental in her moods.  Sunshine one moment, furious downpour the next.  I got caught in it halfway up Tabor this afternoon.

Are you having a nice drink, young one?

It seems a happy time for the young oak on top.  Someone, some human, found an empty bird's nest and placed it in the young limbs at shoulder height.  There were no takers, nor does it seem likely that there will be this late in the spring.  Hard to believe any nesting bird could find the site attractive, in any case.  But it is proof positive that there are others in the community that care about the sapling oak.  He, the oak, is a gift we will pass on to the people who will live here in the centuries to come.  He'll have many residents over the decades.

No takers, alas.

On the way back down, Pacifica relented and brought forth the sun.  She does love us, though we wound her.

Cielo muy azul

About 2 years ago I mentioned Sawman, sawing on his cello on Hawthorne Boulevard.  I'm happy to say he is returned.  His name is Martin.  Yesterday, he was playing with a young woman who sang and played percussion.  Today, he was by himself.

"Hey, man," I told him, "you could play here all summer and that'd be just fine with me."

He smiled from behind his long, wind-lashed locks.  "Well, I'm going to, so--"

I bought him a coffee from Peet's.  Support your local busker.

Martin, the cellist

Things are shaping up for a good summer.  Can you feel it?  I can feel it.  We're in for good times, methinks.