being good
I nearly took the bus this morning because so little light was coming in my bedroom window when the alarm went off, even for the third time, that I assumed it was the dark kind of grey morning with cold rain and wind that sticks in your spokes. But I thought about how I’ll be out of town for the next five days and not biking, and I decided to bike while I could. I cruised across Madison towards the river, past the Santa Fe apartment complex and the street that is always inexplicably filled with Mercedes Benzes, and a woman on her porch smiled at me. My helmet has antennae on it so people smile at me quite a lot.Climbing onto the Hawthorne Bridge the city looked beautiful and backlit, with light falling down from thin blue patches in the clouds and the West Hills all misty. It was a perfect morning to be biking. And then there they were on the far side of the path, the Breakfast on the Bridges crew, who usually show up only on the last Friday of the month. They serve pastries and hot coffee in fancy china teacups, and bikers arcing over the Hawthorne screech to the side for a bite and a chat before plunging down the offramp into the City. Apparently the group that hosts these free gatherings won a Light a Fire award, given by Portland monthly magazine for generally making the city more kickass, so here they were even though we’re only midway though October. And it filled me up with wonder, and a powdered donut.
And waiting at my office was a beautiful piece of writing from a friend I miss every day, and I love reading the things my friends write and this one had the sentence The hills were made for rolling. And there was also a poem from a different friend, a friend who does not read this blog, and it was a Mary Oliver poem, the very first Mary Oliver poem I ever read, Wild Geese.
Wednesday was hard and Thursday was better and Friday seems nothing but marvelous so far, seems like just the reminder I needed. What a blessing this all is. I get cranky about it sometimes and that’s allowed, that’s going to happen. But I sure don’t want to dwell there. This part out here is much better. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. / Meanwhile the world goes on.
posted by tortaluga @ 9:13 AM
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