Category: Oregon

I Miss Winter Already

I miss winter already.

I miss the dark and brooding skies,

As I look up through bare branches hanging overhead.

I miss the mist and the cold wind against my face,

And pulling my coat and my scarf a bit closer around me,

And my hat tightly down over my ears.

I miss the hard, hard rain,

Soaking through my pant legs and my boots.

Although it’s barely spring,

I miss the long nights of storms blowing through from the east,
Rattling both shutters and awakening my fears.

I miss finding comfort in piles of quilts and wool.

Even the soft light of spring seems too harsh, too bright.

I’m not ready. I’m not prepared for what is exposed in this light that comes even through clouds.

Though there are a million other beautiful things about spring,

I miss winter already.

Summer in October is unnatural here.

Rain. Beautiful rain.

It’s the Pacific Northwest, Portland. We have dry, hot winds from the east out of the Gorge blowing in from the desert-like High Steppes.

Everything is tinder dry and crackling. The ground forms fissures like open mouths waiting for a drop of water to quench its thirst.

For the first time, I’m hearing the Cosanti bell ringing more, as our porch, where it hangs, faces east. It’s so lovely, but I’m wishing for wet, Fall weather with hard winds coming from the southwest, heavy with water from the ocean.

We need days of rain… days and days, maybe even weeks… months. We need cooler, cold, temperatures to make the sap run into the roots of the trees, so the leaves can change color and drop to the ground in soggy layers. This persistent summer-like heat feels strange, unnatural, even.

People… we look at each other in shorts and t-shirts, eating out of doors at sidewalk cafés, strolling after dark as if it were mid-summer. We smile uncomfortably, commenting about the strange weather, attemting to make light of something so unfamiliar.

Will it end? Will we get back to rain bouncing off the pavement, forming puddles, streaming from the roof, filling the gutters. Can we get back to running from the house to the car and into the store, school, coffee shop, trying not to get wet? Will the streams and rivers rise to flood levels again? Will children have to wear raincoats over their Halloween costumes ever again?

Can we get back to sweaters, raincoats and boots? Can we get back to complaining about the dark days and constant rain? Please.

As Solstice Approaches

Frost covers everything this morning though it’s not cold enough to freeze the water in the watering bowls set out for those of fur and feather.

The persistent wind has calmed so the old, giant maples, chestnuts, walnuts, fir, spruce and pine are not creaking in protest and the attic doors are not threatening against the hook locks.

The tiny heater tries so hard to warm the air in my room without success. This is winter (almost) in this old house. The furnace heats the first two floors though we can feel the air seeping in through the closed windows. We are grateful for this old house that shelters us.

Solstice approaches bringing longer days but colder months. I welcome the barrenness, the shades of grey. Though Winter settles in, Spring holds promises of life just below the surface and thrusts swords of iris and sprouts of crocus out of the mud and the brave honeysuckle shows tender green buds on seemingly dead and hardened vines.

There is no guilt in rest this time of year. Follow me says the earth, follow me.