I am sitting cross-legged on a
hillside with a bee buzzing me. Directly below is a busy
port. To the left, a bridge with
beautifully curved ribs spans the Willamette River. A train
rolls out of
the yard; others remain parked, waiting to be coupled.
on here? Humans producing, consuming, polluting...
to repress their anger, but everything
green is beginning to scream. Yet
I am happy in the moment. The noise of commerce is comforting,
chugging trains reassuring,
and the bridge bears its burden without complaint.
then the sky clear