It’s not that I don’t like spending so much time with you, the way you make the green so green we turn into hobbits, the way geese and sandhill cranes flood the sky, the way you make the Willamette River a shiny split in the city. You, my sweet, are a charmer I wouldn’t live without.
It’s just that the fourth rainiest year in Oregon history means shoes not drying between walks with my dogs, means not walking the dogs as often, means my bike shoes stiffen in the basement, not getting their air, their due. Call me lazy. Call me ungrateful.
Maybe we should slow things down a bit, visit with some other weather. I’ve heard the Midwest ask about you. Texas is a lovely place; they really appreciate a juicy drop or two. I’m not talking forever. I can share. How about a week or month?
Don’t get me wrong. You make my heart puddle.