Sweet Saturday

Friday night I went to sleep fairly early. My friend M called from Kona and caught me in that twilight state between rest and sleep. I do not remember the conversation, but apparenty, he planted some thoughts that flowered into naughty dreams. So the first thing I did upon awakening Saturday morning was masturbate voluptously. Then I brewed some micro-roasted coffee put on a robe, and sat out on the patio. It was a beautiful morning...the air was moist with an autumnal bite to it, redolent with the scent of humus and the call of birds. It was the birds that drew me to the river, where I meditated on one of my favorite rocks. When I got home, I felt...bouncy...again. Less weary. Refreshed. I had planned to leave for the Coast before midday, but did not get moving until 2pm. Which is fine. I cajoled my roomie into coming along (she's been here 5 months and not been) and away we went. The drive from southeast Portland to the Oregon Coast is about 90 minutes, depending on traffic, and it is a beautiful, scenic drive. Since I was so desperately in need of renewal that I cancelled dates on both Friday and Saturday, I headed straight for Ecola State Park. Its a beautiful second-growth forest, the original one having been chopped down by thoughtless, greedy men who thought the old growth forest ran forever into the horizon. Well, it once did. Ecola was distinctly uncrowded. There was a fine haze that gave a certain misty, ethereal quality to the light, and the breeze was bracing, and tangy with salt. On the path to this overlook there is a tree. A great, noble, dead tree. Seeing it, I was reminded of that odd notion I had when I was a small girl--that trees had silver hearts. The bones of trees are silver, see? Stripped of bark, of the living flesh of xylem and phloem, a tree can turn to silver, as this one did, standing upright and noble, eternally yearning for the sky, its limbs freed of the responsibility of sheltering life. From Ecola we went to Mo's in Cannon Beach, where we ate chowder and I sipped a Haystack Black Porter. Its a rich brew, tasting a bit of chocolate and coffee, with a thick, carmel-coloured head. From there we went to an expresso shop, got warm drinks, sat and talked a bit. I cradled the cup in my hands, warming my fingers, my shoulders hunched to conserve warmth as I learned into the wind. It was a timeless, silvery moment, sweet and savory, and just what I needed. We left Cannon beach after just a few hours, and were home by 8pm. It was a short visit, but not too short. I can still smell the salt, feel it on my skin. I will be showering soon, before I to go to dance, and I will be sad to wash it away.