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Wind in the trees

Time to sit. Out the window Portland grows from partly sunny to mostly cloudy. Music that I like, but don't recognize plays through the coffee house speakers. Surrounded by other writers. Life is good. The hot chocolate, however, is a bit weak.

Pine trees are pushed sideways and the flag pole quivers and bounces back and forth. The sky is shifting to ever darker shades of  gray. Today's sunny morning has turned into a more cold gray afternoon.

Two women drink their coffee from large brown French-style cups that rattle nervously in their saucers, as the last few days events, and gossip are bantered about. The women are friends, but they sit far apart. Even a friendly touch between the two seems unpracticed and awkward. Animated and smiling, rich with gestures, she regales her friend; who looks downwards and scratches her head nervously. An odd conversational style, have these two. One leans in, to make point and the other leans away. Can a conversation be animated, yet stilted. Heads tilted aggressively backward, backs arched they take big slugs of their coffee.

The door, opened unskillfully as the wind and three men sweep into the coffee shop. The boyfriends arrive. Noisily. Newspapers flutter and crackle in the hasty process of stuffing them under-arm to accommodate hugs and air kisses.The quiet conversation of two, becomes a loud, brutish, stumbling, five-way group discussion. The two women, now with nervous girlish smiles are quiet. The men dominate the conversation. Having stolen the quiet from the rest of us, the newcomers are reluctantly pushed to the counter and finally order something. The silence, temporarily restored, during the reading of the handwritten chalkboard menu. Blocking my view, the two quiet, now five loud sit down. The women go back to their conversation. The men pull out their smart phones and gadgets. The brown double wide door is flung open again, and the five abruptly leave. Outside they are joined by two more friends and a large, fluffy brown dog. Drinking coffee, with wind disoriented hair, the seven-and-a-dog disappear up the street.

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Disclaimer

The last 12 months have been the hardest of my life. The lightening quick ending of a 26 year marriage, partnership and friendship. The loss of my best friend of 30 years and the loss of other close friends. I am a poet and writer. Writing helps me move through both the joys and the fears and the pain with swifter and more useful degrees of grace and wisdom. Right now life is challenging, so the poetry reflects that. FYI Be in joy, in all ways! ~william

My Place

Naked             I like rain. There is sublime joy from walking in it. Unique is the passion play between warm, fragrant earth as it opens to receive the powerful spring rainstorm. To me it sounds like homemade Fajitas with peppers, onions and fresh spices sizzling in a cast iron frying pan. There is however, a particular kind rain at the Oregon coast, specifically in Newport Oregon, when wind and rain combine, such that, within a half a mile of the coast that it will rain in a curious sideways fashion. As if the world had been tilted ninety degrees. This horizontal rain has its own beauty, but after three straight days of it, I too was ready for some change. It was, after all, the second week of June. Nearly summer. I was jittery. Jumpy. Though not a coffee drinker, which I know in Oregon, is just plain wrong, but nevertheless, it was like I was on my fifth double mochaccino. Whatever that is. I needed to get out of the hous...