Hello fellow writers, inspired wordsmiths,
With snow, hail, sleet, wind and rain, we sally forth with words that
tumble upon our pages. Regardless the climate. Often in spite of the
weather, inside or outside. Our own temperaments paving the way for
metaphors that tickle our imagination. The desire to share them with
others whose appreciation match our own.
I took a brief detour from the Oregon coastal climate and basked in New
Mexico blue skies where the sun arose daily over the Ponderosa pine tops
casting a red glow onto the sandstone mesa. While not hot, it was
reassuringly joyful to see the size, colour and brilliance of that
sphere each day. And to know with near certainty, that those skies
would hold it again upon my awakening the next day.
As my skin began to turn from silky soft to sandpaper dry, lips chapping
in the arid breeze, I could feel myself leaning evermore to the west.
Toward the ocean. Listening for seagulls screaming over the Necanicum
as they chased bald eagles up and down the tidal flats. The absence of
the ocean's roar filled the vastness with abject silence. Sweet scent
of high mountain pines, llano grasses, dried to tinder brown mixed
together in a gentle wafting fragrance, stealing my heart once again.
The tear between the inland and the edge. The yin, the yang. The polar
opposites of climates, communities, dearths and abundances. I left New
Mexico wondering how such extremes between the coastal Oregon and this
inland place could both occupy my heart with such equal intensities and
allow my sanity, intact.
cheers
Kat
3 April 2018
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