"Springtime" in Portland

My father says that spring in Portland is beautiful. He lived here twenty-some years ago, though. I have yet to see this. Yes, we have trees putting out their beautiful purple and pink flowers. We have crocuses and daffodils coming up, frogs singing on some nights. But all this has been seen through the grey blur of rain for the past few days. Water is a most necessary component of our world and so, I must look at this deluge with some gratitude. I just wish it didn't always come in such long, dreary stretches. Sigh... Maybe I need to just start thinking of this as the "monsoon" season. 

Again then, I leave you with two more Mary Oliver poems. Because they are beautiful. And because they remind me of the beauty in all aspects of this world.

Blackwater Pond

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled

after a night of rain.

I dip my cupped hands. I drink

a long time. It tastes

like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold

into my body, waking the bones. I hear them

deep inside me, whispering

oh what is that beautiful thing

that just happened?

Going to Walden

It isn’t very far as highways lie.

I might be back by night fall, having seen

The rough pines, and the stones, and the clear water.

Friends argue that I might be wiser for it.

They do not hear that far-off Yankee whisper:

How dull we grow from hurrying here and there!

Many have gone, and think me half a fool

To miss a day away in the cool country.

Maybe. But in a book I read and cherish,

Going to Walden is not so easy a thing

As a green visit. It is the slow and difficult

Trick of living, and finding it where you are.