I'm at a small plywood & varnish desk, facing nearly due south. A far-off mountain (Jefferson, I think) sits heavy and crisp white. Down in the valley to the Northeast, the fog hangs serpentine and craggy -- I can see where the Chinese get their dragons from. It's 6:02 am, and I've been up for a while now.
Directly north, flat-topped Helens. East and a little South, Hood -- very close. My big neighbor. West, the goodfellow lakes, and Ascott butte. Although it's obscured by fog, Portland. These are the stones for my circle. This is my vision-quest.
The tower's room is very ship-like. The fire-finder (Osborne fire-finder), and a Bosch * Lomb spotting scope are the center of attention. Hardwood floors and tongue-in-groove walls (only wall 2 1/2 ft. up -- the rest all windows). The fire-finder looks like some astronomical apparatus; a flat disk, the outside ring of brass. A sighting tower with degrees, and across from it, a windowless frame with 2 horsehair cross-hairs.
The shadows of swallows (white-throated, opalescent-backed) streak across my page, yet another reference to the vision-quest. My little angels have returned. They slice through the air with little knife wings, and sound like a stiff kite in wind. Even though their wings are so little, they glide often. They fly straight towards the tower, slowing. If I don't move, they land on the overheads for the windows. Plywood panels pulled up on all sides that covered the windows from weather all winter.
Temp. 54-degrees; breeze 4-8 Northerly, gusty. Humidity 70-percent.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment