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. What's going on here? Humans producing, consuming, polluting...

Trees try 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.

Dark clouds,
a few

then the sky clear


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