North on 101.gif (1132 bytes) to Crescent City, a cold sea lapping the sand, I turned east into a forest of climaxed redwoods, shallow-rooted yet impervious to disease, and continue through drops of rain throwing themselves against windshield, finally reaching I-5.gif (1636 bytes).

In Roseburg, Oregon, across the street from the Chinese restaurant is a cheap motel. Unpacked, and asked, "Where's a good place to have dinner?" "The Chinese restaurant across the street." The room almost empty of patrons, a radio blaring a basketball game, I ordered a mountain of Chow Mein, with strong tea, and the fortune cookie:

        

 

The next afternoon, traffic thinned with misty rain, I glided down the long ramp of Portland's Fremont Bridge, just a few dreams short of home.

It is late at night. In the lobby of the house where i was born i know of a niche and squeeze in
to meditate alone. Soon i sense a female Presence nearby. The next moment we are both
standing in the lobby. Her head is wrapped in a shawl that i begin to unwind, but i feel
that she doesn't want me to see her face. I turn to walk away; then turn back and ask:
"If we meet again, how will i know it's you?"