Out of Portland

At the end of the month it’s time again to leave Portland. What a good place this is. I lived in London and Seattle, famous cities of gravity and influence, and was impressed by both. Each has a trustworthy wealth, confidence, and grayness, and I would still be happy to live in either. But Portland – barely smaller than Seattle – is a city with a human scale, and life here is like the company of a person. Portlanders are as those who, however at odds, have a friend in common. And indeed the city feels like an equal among those to whom I say goodbye this week.

Burnside will be our street
Where the kids and the hookers meet
Diners and stripclub junk
Bookstores and punk rock clubs
I’m as green as this blade
In the grass that bends
In the wind that blows
On the long weekends
Where I cross the bridge
To the water fountains
And drink in the hope
That the city brings

— Sleater-Kinney, Light Rail Coyote.

You know my e-mail address. Atoms to:

C. E. Loyd
144 Harvest Moon Farm
Waldron WA  98297