Category: Sky

When Giants Came A’Calling

An ominous sky

While sitting here in my chair by the open door, suddenly the scent of rain hit me and I lifted my head to look outside to see that it was pouring. We were expecting a storm with thunder and lightening… the precursor to rain all week long.

I’m so happy, otherwise if we don’t get enough rain in Oregon and Washington we are going to be on fire this summer. Blessed rain. This is the Pacific Northwest and I am not a stranger to rain nor to thunderstorms.

Though I have lived where there was big sky, there’s something about being four stories up where you feel like you could touch the sky. I’m not just four stories up, I am on a knoll on the side of Rocky Butte… an extinct volcano cone.

My view is mostly sky but it’s even broader than that. Stretching up to the sky are giant Douglas fir and deciduous trees of all kinds including the beautiful spring blossoming cherry and plum. It’s been a spectacular spring.

But beyond that, I can see busy Sandy Boulevard and beyond to the airport and beyond that to the Columbia River and even beyond that into Washington. Then the eye travels up into the sky.

Really, I think besides not having to pay utilities, I moved into this small apartment because of the view. The living room wall is mostly glass leading to a Juliet balcony. My view is unobstructed.

Though there is nature all around, which includes the heavily forested Grotto next door and the Rocky Butte Nature Park,  the sounds of traffic and of the airport creates an urban soundgarden.

From my favorite chair at the door, I watch hawks and crows and every kind of small bird… some even land on the railing of my balcony. This panorama makes me wish I had my mom’s old binoculars.

But what holds my attention most is the sky. From my vantage point, I have been watching some of the most spectacular Portland sunsets that I’ve been privileged to witness. I’ve always lived, while in Portland, on the city streets and we’re surrounded by hills. So to the East and to the West we rarely see the sunsets and the sunrises except for the amazing colors reflected up onto the clouds.

That is not to say that we don’t have stunning sunsets because we do but there’s something about being up higher that changes the view. One’s perspective is altered.

So back to Friday’s sky and the storms. Most of you who know me, know that I’m afraid of everything. And nothing more pronounced and intense than of nature.

Quoting Georgia O’Keeffe, I have been absolutely terrified every moment of my life… and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing that I have wanted to do. Because I have felt this way for most of my life, it has been such a comfort to read such a quote from an artist that I so admire.

I have been bold and brave. I survived two illnesses that nearly killed me and yet I have hiked up mountains, swam in the ocean and big rivers, ridden mountain bikes, I’ve traveled alone throughout Mexico, and attended four universities and had an exciting career. And yet fear was my constant companion.

For the first time I think, I felt fear of the sky yesterday night. The black clouds came out of the North, dragging curtains of heavy rain, darkening what had been a sunny day. They came in low towards me roiling and lumbering appearing like angry giants. Out towards the West there was a line of clear sky over the hills where lightning flashed repeatedly.

Those dark entities seemed creature like or perhaps more like wild spirits. But too heavy to be ghost or spirit like. More like giants whose arms and hands could reach down through the clouds to carry one away. I stood my ground, not looking away but marveling at their power as they seemed likely to soon engulf my house.

I was mesmerized and watched the clouds and the pouring rain until night came on, melding Darkness with Darkness, and until all that was left was the flashing light out over the West Hills, too far away to be audible.

Did those creatures carrying their cloaks of grey and the blackest clouds think of me as bold and brave as I stood my ground against them? I believe it’s possible.

In My New Home

My view is such a wide expanse of sky that I can watch as clouds break and pools of sun move across the landscape.

Where I am home in a white box of five hundred and sixty six square feet.

Exactly

Where a lifetime of gathering objects of beauty is reduced to twenty boxes.

Exactly

Where I look for nooks and crannies where I can find comfort in the familiar.

Where I used to gather belongings and those I love, now I discard of necessity.

Where four stories up, I have a view. Birds fly across the sky, from tree to tree.

Where everything else has diminished, the sky is expansive and reminds me,

That I am not diminished.

The Owl and the Flight of the Crows

I wanted to tell you something just in case I forget. It was New Year’s Eve and…

we were out on the sidewalk about to get in the car to drive to a party. We were stopped in our tracks and we quickly hushed. Was that an owl? Yes. It had to be a big owl because it had a very big voice and its message was urgent, if I might extrapolate. It was in the fir tree next door to our house.

I was surprised because I hear owls all the time in our yard, but they’re small owls. Neighbors have been able to catch photos of them but I have only heard them on *Merlin. We live just blocks away from a large park where predator birds are regularly seen.

This might have been a forewarning of what was to come at the party that evening.

The story is about crows and owls and not the disturbing occurrence at the party that night. But there was a huge upset that evening. We left the party early. I didn’t think of the owl’s presence and warning until days later.

On our way home, we drove downtown to look at the Christmas lights and the street parties going on. Cafes, bars and restaurants were in full party mode. People filled the sidewalks and were walking al】nd standing in the streets as music emanated from indoors.

The annual Christmas tree in the square was lit up and probably could have been seen from space. The theaters were emptying out after shows onto the streets.

In the square, live music was playing, and it was packed out with people streaming in, dancing and laughing and talking. Everyone was in a party mood.

On every street corner, there were people selling the most amazing lights suspended on poles. They looked like giant dandelion seed heads of iridescent colors swinging in the night air.

In spite of the upset at the party, the night ended well. When we got home, we made mimosas and stayed awake until the clock struck midnight and we welcomed in 2026.

I didn’t think again about the owl until the day before yesterday, I woke early in the morning just at daybreak and looked about a block away at a very, very large deciduous tree. The entire tree was covered in crows. I mean covered. More ornamental than bobbles on a christmas tree.

More crows were attempting to land on the tree but there wasn’t much room, so an occasional displaced crow would fly into the sky while another landed. Suddenly, the sky was filled with crows, heading for that tree from the east.

There were hundreds of crows in the sky, and the crows on the tree flew up into the air as well, turning the sky almost black with a riotous noise of crowing.

At the time, I couldn’t imagine what might be going on that there was such a gathering. Was it an event of the local groups of murders? Was it something in the air, at a specific date and time? Was this an ominous warning from the crows that I should be paying attention to?

All of a sudden and all at once:

they headed towards our yard and like a black cloud they landed in the maple tree next door to our shed and in the maple in our yard. It was mind blowing, to say the least.


What I didn’t know was that Hannah was outside, under this huge flight of crows, so she had a better view of what was really going on.

In the maple tree was a gigantic owl. Could it be the same one that had been warning us on new year’s eve? As the crows came in for a landing, the owl stretched its huge wing span and took to the sky.

Hannah swears that the crows were chasing the owl out of their territory. As the owl took off, the crows lifted from the trees where they had landed and soon vanished.

It was absolutely amazing. I know the Audubon says that we need to accept the crows as the new urban bird. But I’ve struggled with that because they do eat the eggs of our song birds. But it was both beautiful and frightening… ominous.

I’m so glad I woke to see it.

* Merlin is a free bird ID app by Cornell Lab of Ornithology

A Spring Day. I cannot miss a moment of this.

A most glorious day.

Blue skies with magnificent white clouds floating by,

Sometimes obscuring the sun, leaving a chill in the air.

Sunlight illuminates every color of green. Overwhelmingly green.

Every flower blossom exudes fragrance on the air,

Passing by just to give a whiff, of pleasure.

The mottled ground, shadows of quivering leaves.

The Bush Tits flitting, where else? In the bushes.

I’m mesmerized. I cannot move from this chair.

What if I miss a moment?

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.

It Was a Surprising Summer Storm

We had a thunderstorm last night with pouring and pounding rain, bright white flashes of lightning and booming, rolling thunder and wind blowing the trees sideways. It blew by. It lasted for just under 20 minutes.

I counted the first burst of sound and flash of light that woke me from an uneasy sleep, just like Mom had taught me to do. “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand.” It was right over head as it headed west. I quit counting at seventeen one thousand… it was traveling across the midnight sky.

Then just as suddenly as it began, all was quiet again. The trees stood still and the undisturbed darkness returned. The smell of wet pavement blew in my open window as the drops of rain fell on the warm streets.

When I woke this morning, we’re back to the heat with bright sunshine. The sky is light blue with high fluffy clouds thousands and thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of feet in the air.

The light is a soft, muted golden yellow. Even the air itself, as if it were visible, shimmers. I think because of the slow and gradual transitioning to autumn, and the extreme heat we’ve suffered, the leaves are starting to turn on the trees and fall to the ground.

What a sight to see and remember in this late August time.

While Lying in the Hammock

It’s just past noon on the summer solstice.

For days it’s been cool and raining.

Everything is just a bit damp.

While the temperature is climbing,

The hammock is calling.

I answer the call and lay down,

and I gaze upwards.

The sky is so blue it’s an impossible shade of purple.

The leaves are every shade of green,

From black where little light can reach,

Under the dense branches,

To chartreuse where the leaves shine against the sky,

Almost translucent where sunlight amicably tries to penetrate.

I think I’ll just lie here for a while.

After all, the warmth and beauty are mesmerizing.