Missing you

you know how you have those days when the fear of never coming up with another story or poem shivers your timbers and the little voice in your head says “why bother any longer you’ll never make it”  well today was one of those days and nothing I did could shake the feeling until late, late, late in the evening when the following came out of somewhere:


 

You are gone now back home to the smog, the Santa Ana Winds, Sig-alerts, hot sandy beaches, and palm trees that are Southern California.  Your stay was far too short the last time we embraced was 20 years ago, wow 20 years and if not for that early morning gaze out the window through my blood-shot eyes the lone bald eagle in the park would have gone undetected and I would never connect this sighting to you thus tracking you down.

 

I will cherish these past two weeks, the sights and sounds spending an entire day absorbing the transient characters of Portland’s living room Pioneer Square, journeyed the walkway along the Willamette River, our laughter, your laughter how you reacted when I took you to the Columbia Gorge at Crown Point.  A shame I did not snap your portrait there I can see you long strawberry blonde hair whipped by the winds as if a flag on a pole, mmmmmmmmmm.  We spent the evening catching-up and tasting Portland at the Alder Pod of food trucks I chose fish and chips and you had the veggie bowl topped with a garlic sauce so addicting you went for seconds.

Nature was uncooperative on your last day in the Pacific Northwest it rained on and off muddying everything but then your experience would not be complete without this it would be like going to California for the hot, sunning weather and not reaping the benefit. Fortunately, at the right time the evening deluge stopped, clouds parting long enough for a walk up the Overlook in East Vancouver to watch the sunset.  I began a Lewis and Clark history lesson when you stop me our eyes meet and there with the Columbia River and Portland spread out before us we kiss, our tongues dance of an ancient drum beat.

The day after you left I hike to the Overlook  a strange sensation starts at the toes a warmth of affection flows upward through the legs past the hips up the chest stopping at the face where a smile stretches half moon.  Your spirit is alive here glancing to the ground there on the muddy sidewalk an impression the ribbing from your shoe, your footprint.  A  framed picture of it adorns my computer desk next to the portrait of you.

Good night

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6 thoughts on “Missing you

    1. Do you have those days, in the creative process, when you just stare at swaying trees or contrails in the sky and nothing comes forth? You sense words but the dam is built well. That is me of late although snippets fill the page I keep ramming that and soon will break out.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Honestly, I’m just happy staring at the swaying trees and sky, just being…..
        No worries, the words will come when they’re ready. Your writing is always so deep, I’m guessing, not easily reached. That was simply my way of checking on you. Have a great week!

        Like

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