In the summer, Portland is a garden. The city comes alive with roses, peonies, annuals, orchids, iris. Everywhere I go, a flowering bush or tree surprises me with not only the elongated, delicate and mysterious shape of its flowers but also its wildness -- right here in the city limits. There is no need to contain, cut, trim or control bursting nature, which stretches from the front lawns of neighborhood houses, flowering pots of sidewalks, community gardens, etc.
I love that homeowners determine how much trimming, cutting, etc. they do to their gardens. Mostly, they let it be and enjoy its natural untidy inclinations and eventual demise. This is the true life-span of creation: exuberant, appearing, and disappearing. When it is here the breeze carries evidence of its fragrances everywhere. It makes me crazy when I detect a scent I don't recognize and then it is gone. I have, though, whiffed honeysuckle, iris, and all sorts of wildflowers I can't name. Really, I have spent my entire summer "oohing" and "ahhing" at the purples, reds, oranges, blues, pinks, and whites of flowers. I have also spent it kneeling over a bushes of roses so that I can deeply inhale its fragrance and wish to disappear into its pistils where I would live forever. But, of course, I would have to battle the bumble bees for that honor
This is the experience of a short-lived summer. Everyone warns you that it will soon be over. Enjoy!!!! They recommend you bike, hike, canoe, swim, etc. The papers put out directories of beaches, streets fairs and markets. Everyone is out and about, talking, laughing taking it all in before it is gone. They wear their colorful summer dresses, khakis, straw hats and sandals.
It's funny when I lived in Miami, with all its green palm trees, lawns and light-blue skies, all I ever knew was summer, a summer so bright, long and oppressive it sat in my mind like an eternal life. But this misleading sense of eternity made me think I had all the time in the world to get my act together, find my purpose, do what I needed or wanted to do. To say the least, I wasted time. But not anymore. Like the seasons, I operate at the rate of each of their particular objectives. In the winter I retract but stay focused. In the spring I transition. In the summer I never lose sight of my need for both pleasure and work. And I don't yet know what to expect of the fall.
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