Portland

Green moss coats the slick sidewalk, brilliant leaves glisten moistly.
It’s been raining for days. The very air smells wet, and cold. Alive.
Trees fly skyward, carrying life questing towards the distant, fog-hidden sun.

Winter hibernation mixes with verdant flora, the awake and the sleeping. From the cold and desolate north, I do not expect leaves in January.

January.

It isn’t cold here, not like Calgary. No deep freeze that cracks pipes and forces us to run from storefront to storefront, hiding from the wintry chill.

January. Leaves, and warmth.

I love it here.

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