Near summer has bloomed in Portland. Smells of wisteria and new roses. Smells of hay fever, gas mowers and barbeque.

Forty five years ago, there would have been love-ins in the park; “Hot town; summer in the city…” Forty five years ago, I would have been dressed braless in a blue paisley mini-dress; long hair, never quite right though we were supposed to be above such superficialities. Waiting for sundown to turn the sky to endless night, ripe with possibilities.Then, my life was the proverbial clean slate, the unwritten book. Childhood a millennium behind me; adulthood, obscure through the mist of the moment.

Strange enough, it’s a little like that now. Again the unwritten book, this one entitled Old Age. Again the endless possibilities. Along the path of in-between, I found that everything I want, everything I need is already mine.

Oh, yeah. And I love my cats. (Can’t have a post without cats.)