A City Morning

This morning illustrated perfectly why I have chosen to live where I live. There is a word for a frozen fog that forms in the mountain valleys of the western United States: pogonip. Allegedly, its origins are traced to the Shoshone language, which makes sense since they populated that kind of country. As it turns out, I do too and this morning I watched ridge after ridge march to Mt. Hood, our very own Cascade volcano. These local ridges were separated by a dense white pogonip, row upon row. It was spectacular. The sun was still hidden, but the horizon was falling away rapidly to reveal it. It was a study in grayscale, with a hint of pale rose as a promise of the blazing to come. For an moment, there was absolutely no evidence of anything manmade. It was utterly wild and it was just me looking with an open heart. I would not trade that for anything. It happens, here in this city, several times a year.

All through my working day those images stayed with me. Even now, as the day fades into tomorrow, I am compelled to describe what I saw and to, somehow, cast meaning to it. Why can’t I just recall the view and love it for what it was, a nice visual on the way to work? I think I want to give it added meaning because it is, almost always, a profound and rare experience to feel the presence of wilderness in a major metropolitan area. I feel something similar when I see a coyote in the woods behind my house, or a deer walk through my front yard. I feel something like it most every day when I see hummingbirds and other birds come to the feeders I have out. I see Redtail Hawks and Bald Eagles fly over the house. These are events that inform me directly that I am probably not the crown of creation, that I must share space with fauna and flora very different from myself.

I find this incredibly important. It humbles me in ways that I’m sure I don’t entirely understand. These creatures have just as much stake in this planet, perhaps more, than I do. They remind me that my daily actions can either harm or enhance their very chances of survival. And my own as well.

Most likely, I will get up tomorrow with the sun or slightly before, build a fire, and go out for a morning walk to watch the sky change colors. I’ll try and slip through the neighborhoods like a ghost, leaving no trace of my passing. I’ll climb a couple of formidable hills to heat my blood and give my body the work it craves. While I’m at it I will keep my eyes moving, trying to catch a glimpse of wilderness as it hides from an ever-encroaching city, always hopeful that I will be blessed with that vision. Yes, always hopeful.