From a previous visit and a smartphone weather application that I check regularly, I knew that Portland has a wider temperature range than San Francisco (I assume that most places do), and while I understood that would certainly mean hotter summers (which I don't like), I didn't think about how the colder and warmer temperatures would affect the color of the leaves.
So, on our first day here, we took the TriMet number 20 bus eastbound on Burnside to walk around a neighborhood that we read might be interesting, the Kern district, and while getting a bit lost, came upon some quaint, quiet streets bursting with fall colors. There were oranges, greens and yellow ochre leaves on the trees and ground, and although the skies were grey and overcast, I could not imagine the scene being lit any better.
Although it didn't occur to me consciously at the time, being in the midst of all these colors seemed both very new, while also familiar to me. I spent many years in New York City, my hometown, admiring the richness of colors like these before the frigid winters would set in, but have seen very little of this during the last ten years, living in San Francisco, which has about two seasons. Seeing such beautiful colors again felt more like I was seeing something in person that I had only seen in pictures before than something that I had just not seen in a while.
It's amazing that the memories of my first forty two years of life can seem so distant, but at times one day to the next can feel like that too. I know that I cannot expect all days that I live to be great, or maybe even good, but I hope that I can at least have some beautiful moments of vibrancy on occasion during them.
Just one kind of vibrant moment
