I was all set to post one thing, but I was typing along and thought no, that's not right so I got ready to do something else that was a quote or a poem or something and that wasn't right either, so why don't I just say nothing you might be wondering with good reason, but sometimes a person just wants to say SOMETHING, just like how sometimes a person wishes to remain silent. You have the right to remain silent. (me too.)
This suddenly seems very abstract which is what happens the closer I type to the later it is. (I'm not going to fix that. Deal with it.)
So instead I will sneak in more pictures. SNEAKY! These are summertime pictures. Let's celebrate summertime and miranda rights on this, our labor day weekend.
Swimming Hole! I didn't think these actually existed outside of nostalgic children's fiction or R.E.M. songs! It was just as wonderful as you'd hope it would be, except the water was so frigging cold that I admired it from the edge. "that's some hole!" etc. etc.
They have to put the sign on this bridge, because once you're on it the temptation to jump is strong. Like force field strong. Like 1000 imps pushing at the bottom of your feet strong. Like juggling powerful helium balloons and a cannon ball strong. (don't parse that one too closely.) What I'm trying to say here is that there's a lot of motion in the architecture of that bridge. It's built in! It's the kind of thing where until you're standing on it, you think "goddamn! you people should stop jumping on the bridge: there is a SIGN that FORBIDS IT." Until, like I said, that moment when your feet meet the wooden bridge and it's like walking on the moon! bouncy, buoyant and suddenly who gives a damn if the campground cops come and point their finger and tell you to stop? I mean, they're going to have to run across this bridge to catch me (which will be very bouncy) and I could always swing on a vine and get back to the other side or maybe I'll just live in some kind of clackamas county CAVE and only come out at night to jump on the bridge. Yeah! That would show them, whoever they are. Does it count as jumping if your feet never fully leave the bridge? I think not. I could win in court.
tomato haul -- this was taken on august 20th, right before heading to the beach. It was 90 degrees by 10AM in portland, it was 48 degrees at the beach. I had to put on MORE SHIRTS. But the tomatoes still tasted good, even in the fog and cold.
This suddenly seems very abstract which is what happens the closer I type to the later it is. (I'm not going to fix that. Deal with it.)
So instead I will sneak in more pictures. SNEAKY! These are summertime pictures. Let's celebrate summertime and miranda rights on this, our labor day weekend.
Swimming Hole! I didn't think these actually existed outside of nostalgic children's fiction or R.E.M. songs! It was just as wonderful as you'd hope it would be, except the water was so frigging cold that I admired it from the edge. "that's some hole!" etc. etc.
They have to put the sign on this bridge, because once you're on it the temptation to jump is strong. Like force field strong. Like 1000 imps pushing at the bottom of your feet strong. Like juggling powerful helium balloons and a cannon ball strong. (don't parse that one too closely.) What I'm trying to say here is that there's a lot of motion in the architecture of that bridge. It's built in! It's the kind of thing where until you're standing on it, you think "goddamn! you people should stop jumping on the bridge: there is a SIGN that FORBIDS IT." Until, like I said, that moment when your feet meet the wooden bridge and it's like walking on the moon! bouncy, buoyant and suddenly who gives a damn if the campground cops come and point their finger and tell you to stop? I mean, they're going to have to run across this bridge to catch me (which will be very bouncy) and I could always swing on a vine and get back to the other side or maybe I'll just live in some kind of clackamas county CAVE and only come out at night to jump on the bridge. Yeah! That would show them, whoever they are. Does it count as jumping if your feet never fully leave the bridge? I think not. I could win in court.
tomato haul -- this was taken on august 20th, right before heading to the beach. It was 90 degrees by 10AM in portland, it was 48 degrees at the beach. I had to put on MORE SHIRTS. But the tomatoes still tasted good, even in the fog and cold.
This post just made me so happy! I love how you write!!!
ReplyDeleteThis comment made me so happy!! You are so sweet.
ReplyDelete