Why is it at endings that one’s mind reaches back to the memories of beginnings? All mine seem to be centered at the very beginning in Oregon. Like waves that melt in and out of each other , the memories flowed accompanied by the emotions of those times while blanketed with the raw emotions of today.
I see a parade where a face caught my eye. There were those walks in Lithia Park when the leaves were full and green. There were the same walks when snow carpeted the trails and the trees were barren and stark yet adorned with whiteness. I remember the steaming hot chocolate accenting the long talks in cafes.
The trips to Portland were adventures of new found love. The little black pick up truck that will pull up to my driveway every Friday night or Saturday morning. That same truck that left Sunday night as I looked through parted drapes with wistful heart.
Our first apartment , modern and new, and next to a railroad track. Our gathering of friends in the wonderful little hamlet town of Ashland.
Beautiful Oregon where I found love.
I cling to these memories as this new phase of my life starts trying to eventually find a place where the pain of regret does not sting so harshly.
Like those giant towering trees that I saw while I lived in that beautiful state, I hope I can find the strength to look upward. With the wonderful times and upon the hard times , my life will emerge fully rooted and still optimistically reaching for the heavens , standing strong.