Well Bottom Blues

Is it my imagination or am I simply growing more perceptive the longer I walk in the forest? It seems the overcast filtered light spreads a Pantone rainbow of greens of the sort I’ve only seen in photos of the Northwest, and once in the Portland Japanese Garden in a drizzle.

The soft scent of freshly shredded deadfall for the trails, not as strong as downwind Wednesday from the screaming chipper, the gently mixed of aroma of many different trees. Further down the trail, I realize the pungent scent I thought was from the wood chipper Wednesday is from the nearby pile of malting mulch.

Why walk through the forest loop after loop so we keep passing one another at such a sturdy pace of your face frozen as if in distaste? I hope whatever is turbulent inside and pulling it your face like a sad magnet is soothed by the forest.

I started around the South trail that’s too close to Harrison Avenue really, and stuck my phone in my pocket on video record. I ended up with a lopsided drunk image that didn’t capture the hawk that suddenly flew down that trail over me, or his appearance after I turn the corner launching himself into the sky.