my day filled with gray

Not all will share my opinion, but I find rainy days to be peaceful. It makes me want to roast everything in sight, fix an extra cup of coffee and curl up in front of the fire with one of my latest magazine fixes. Maybe this comes from living in clean, green Oregon. Mind you, this only applies to the west side of the mountains.

I now find myself on the opposite side of the Cascade range…it is much drier here; bragging a whopping 300 plus days of sunshine a year. I do like sunshine. I don’t like to be cold and I do love to spend as much time as possible outside. Those disclaimers put out there, I get all misty for gray, cloud-infused days.

I remember living in southern Nevada where the color of the sky seemed to be continually blue, and saying “won’t there ever be even a small puffy cloud floating by?” Say that to a Portlander in the middle of February and they just might knock you down into a mud puddle.

But really, clouds have such personality. Don’t you remember lying on your back as a kid and watching the clouds? How many different things did you see? In fact, just the other night we saw an alligator in the fiery sunset. It only takes a little imagination to transform pillowy puffs into a circus of characters.

Hello my friend

my day filled with gray

Above, the heather sky obscures the turquoise sphere

dusky dove baubles float heavenward, then drip to the ground

Misty and liquid, cloud burst releases the gray

falling, tumbling, cleaning dirt

Some would wish you gone; me too … sometimes

There’s gentleness in your iron presence

drawing quiet introspection

A gratuity from my gray filled day...

Missy

If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance

road tripping: french glen and steens mountain

we took a stinkin' lot of dirt roads, but i wouldn't have it any other way The drive wasn’t long by west coast standards, a mere few of hours; which meant there was plenty of leisure (interpreted coffee time) before leaving on another road trip escapade. I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it is to pack a bag, gas up the car and set out to see what can be seen. An interesting thing I’ve discovered on these exploits, is that having lived in Oregon for the majority of my life, I’ve missed “seeing” a lot of things. You know, I think we all get into the habit of going to the same places, which is a good thing, but we forget about the “other” places that are right in our own backyards. Case in point, yesterday afternoon, when my darling man and I went to Tumalo Falls. I’ve been to Skyliner Snow Park, but never gone the few more dirt road miles to see the falls. Holy cow! Is that lame, or what? a sweet little place, no frills, but plenty of yesteryear

lent, not lint

says it all - the grotto It sticks to your clothes and shows up splendidly on black, it gets caught on the screen in the dryer and socks elaborately decorate your toes with the stuff. Yep, lint: the fuzzy, ravelings of fabric that cling to everything; like Velcro, only different. Lint actually has a purpose. By scraping it from linen it can be made into a soft, fleecy fabric. Cotton staple – lint fibers – are spun into yarn. While all of this is riveting, especially while staring at the lint in your belly-button, there’s more to Lent than its sound doppelganger. lint: fluffy, minute shreds of yarn lent: a season of preparation These two tiny words sound similar in our vernacular, but have massively different implications in our lives. We clean-up lint and toss it in the trash. Lent, however is a prepping time for us to realize we’re not great at cleaning up our own stuff. Lent was originally a season between winter and summer, now called spring. The s

pebbles

strewn pebbles Walking on the path I noticed the pebbles. I stopped and picked one up, holding it in my hand to feel it’s texture. Tiny and smooth, it felt warm from the sun. Continuing on my walk, the way was scattered with pebbles of different shapes and sizes; some flat and polished, others round and craggy with sharp edges that could cut the skin. I considered the meaning, if any. Some had been sanded to perfection by time and wear. Others recently broken and chipped were harsh, ugly to feel and look at. No matter, all were pebbles; that was fact. Missy If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance

Isabella Bird Miscellany

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