When we first arrived in Portland our son warned us that spring was actually several seasons in one - fake spring, late winter, early spring, summer, real spring, winter again, and so on.
But what a difference a day makes. Last Friday most everything melted. The skies cleared and views of the Cascades showed gleaming snow-capped peaks. Clouds of the white and fluffy sort drifted lazily in a dazzling blue sky. The temperature climbed to 50, which we haven't seen in a while. Or at least I don't remember; perhaps it's frozen out of recollection.
A place where we're reminded that once upon a time no humans walked, where human strife didn't exist, where none of this, none of us, mattered.
Many years ago, when I began hormone replacement therapy, my practitioner promised that I would once again "hear the music play." I thought, what a great metaphor for enjoying life. I knew that sensation of hair raising, goose bumpy, tear inducing awe. When retirement came along, I wanted to likewise recapture the music, and rekindle … Continue reading Hearing the Music Again