He hears voices and bird song, oh, and aeroplanes!
This was Easter, a rare Portland gem of seventy-five and sunny. Hoot and holler! To celebrate and soak up as much of the goodness that we could, we headed west to Beaverton and the Cooper Mountain Nature Park. Dear neighbors, have you ever been? Not only is its moniker one of the finest I can conjure, it is lovely in its organized wildness, and a royal treat on a smashing day.
We did a loop around the park, our eyes meeting every manner of tree and shrub, like this great stand of mossy oaks.
There were plenty of plants I didn’t know and quite a few that I did.
Then there were creatures, some soaring and others well hidden, despite their voluminous singing and rustling about.
There were teenagers, wholly unappreciative of nature and even louder in their protestations of being in her presence. Hopefully they will change their minds in future or be a little more closed mouthed in their fervor.
Then there was this madrone, one of the tallest I’d ever seen, with bark as smooth and cool as a worry stone.
And me, baring my whiteness to the world, ever so glad!
