PDX

I watch the late afternoon sunshine sculpt the hills of the Columbia River valley to beautiful shadow enhanced. serpentine shapes, as the plane circles into PDX. I take in the evergreen forests that signal the Northwest after three weeks in the delicious, deciduous world of New Jersey, New York and before that the wide open vistas of South Africa. And, for just a moment, I feel myself retract, a frisson of claustrophobia runs through me as I remember the sun drenched hills below in the grey of November. I absorb the thump of the wheels contacting earth; my three fifty pound bags and I have made it home.

Sitting on the bench outside the exit doors, awaiting Lorena, I muse as the soft summer air, still bright and warm at 8 p.m, fills me with memories of other summer nights here. I lived here for 18 years before the pull of Africa spirited me across the oceans. Now, ten years later, it is time to return and reclaim my life here, my role in the circle of family and friends, the third chapter. I taste the breezes to see how it sits in my cells, these familiar Portland sounds and sights and smells.