Bridges of Portland

 

     As daylight makes its subtle exit into winter’s night, I begin my walk across the Willamette River toward home.  My journey officially starts as I turn the corner from 2nd Street onto Burnside.  With Aasics tied tight – I sidestep sleepers, loiterers, talkers, smokers, bed rolls, fast-food trash and stains of things “spilled.”  At least I hope they were spilled.   

      I’m not here to judge; I’m just passing through.  Sometimes however, my senses are jolted by a sudden unexpected odor that releases memories of a campground outhouse.  Instinct kicks in.  After a quick convulsive twitch, I squint and unknowingly begin breathing through my mouth.  I survey the source before realizing… I really don’t want to know.  

      I liken this scene to navigating medieval bridge trolls, only it’s my nose asking permission to pass.  Once granted, my walk progresses into a calm, liberating experience.  The air clears.  Work is over.  Downtown is behind me.  The river becomes as a mirror, reflecting the sights and sounds of the city. The view becomes more expansive as I approach the center of the bridge.  

      It is here in the darkening mist I notice the scene looking north.  Four bridges, each of different design and color, contrasted against one another like ghosts in a cemetery.  This is interesting because I’ve never actually seen ghosts in a cemetery.  So I stop, take a few photos and turn east to continue my journey home.  I’m trying not to notice the special sumpin’ sumpin’ stuck to the bottom of my shoe.     

16" x 24"  Acrylic on board