Fourth of July, Seaside Oregon

I went on my evening beach walk among the holiday seekers who blasted the roar of the mighty ocean into mere snippets of her usual magnificence. The booming and hissing sounds and sulpher smells were overwhelming by the time I made it back home.

Rerouted by the beach police I walked among the "camps" of refugee-looking groups, each carving out a fire pit and resting place—some with developed architectural design and attention to engineered heat retention.

The diversity of each cluster's sense or lack thereof to their temporary shelter and cooking abode captured my attention and focused my gaze upon the similarities of the structures and yet the obviously unique signature each group presented to their own tribe and my quizzical eyes.  One reminiscent of Chaco Canyon kivas complete with consistency and beauty, took my attention.  While others, lacking order, design or beauty, threw my gaze searching for something to assuage my inner need for peacefulness and tranquility to weather the intensity of the density of such a piecemeal patchwork quilt of human gathering.

Quite a journey through a foreign land.  Life truly is a dream rich with surprises in all ways, and this fourth of July escapade underlies this truth, yet again.

Kat

4 July 2016

Oregon Country Fair, 2016

Where the world is truly a dream, complete with philosophically-speaking moss-covered trees, mouths wide and wise, giant people giraffes arched and lumbering languidly, 20-foot tall blond-haired fairies in crinoline skirts sprinkling fairy dust down upon our heads, toddlers with curly lime green hair kicked back in wagons pulled by dancing fairgoers, where every shape and size of human being, clad in a cacophony of costume styles from “nothing,” to beautiful unicorn-wigged women, a man’s man bearing bear-bottle glasses and pink Hawaiian hula skirt, and every assortment from the earliest historical period to present day. Even “normal” took on an Alice-in-Wonderland” essence.

A menagerie of our wildest fantasies. When Woodstock happened, in ’68, Joni Mitchell was not w her lover, Graham Nash and his band at Woodstock due to some snafoo. She wrote the quintessential song t capturing the essence of that moment. Sometimes being there is the sum of the experience, while others can ride the edges and write the most provocative, evocative, complete summary of a moment’s beauty sheerly observing, feeling, and ultimately connecting as one upon the ethers that only love and its companeros make possible.

Kat

9 July 2016

A Smile- KB

How I love to excite
the corners of your lips to rise
to crinkle edges by your eyes
when you delight in the words I write.

Kat
9 July 2016