Photo of the Day

My campsite at Crater Lake, Oregon, last month. Really, how much more does a fellow need?

Something Different

With very little true creativity left in my these days, I was surprised to come up with this poem during a couple of bike rides. The idea originated somewhere in the first ride, and then lines and images were added in a second ride. What was then typed up a week or so later is only a bit different than what's below. This one is a little tighter and succinct than the first draft. My friend Shawn gave me a suggestion for the first draft, but my stubbornness has, so far, resisted his input.

Drawing My Father

On a March evening I asked my father
how he would like to be defined, how
one day he would want his grandchildren
to know him. I sat with my sketchbook
and drew his face for my fourth-grade project
on Family. He set the Tribune on his lap.
Beneath the blue coveralls his belly rose
and fell so that the newspaper
rustled against the fabric.
I charcoaled his eyebrows and the creases
above them. When I glanced up for reference,
my father was looking at me. He raised the corner
of his mouth as if he were Elvis, and I was not sure
then if his eyes should be drawn as pained or proud.

What Being on the Road Can Teach You #3

Driving through rain most of the way from Portland, I arrive at Crater Lake late in the afternoon. There is little to see but clouds and mist as I approach the crater from the north, and after a couple of brief stops I descend to the campground on the south side, figure out how I go about getting a campsite, and then hike a bit. At one point I find what a sign says is a loop trail, but I lose the loop and backtrack to my small tent. After dinner at the cafe most of the clouds vanish and I drive back up to the crater for some early evening tourism.

There is no phone reception, so I do not know if the cubicle has called.

At dusk I get into my tent to escape the mosquitoes, and at 6 the next morning I pack, brew tea, and drive to the rim again to see if things are different at this time of day. I take some more pictures and then  drive to the south entrance and out of the park. After a short drive I think that, for the direction I think I'm headed and the time of day, the sun is not where it should be in relation to my car. I find a wide spot in the road, pull out the maps, and find that, in fact, I must have missed a turn or mis-read a sign. I'm not lost, really, I'm just not where I'm supposed to be. Thankful that I can actually read a map, though, I decide to keep going since I'll eventually get to the road home. My route takes me through some beautiful country.

A couple hours later I'm on Interstate 5 again and pointed south. At a few points I check my phone for messages, but there are none. I consider the cubicle and wonder what it's thinking. But, still, there are no messages, and I keep driving and driving.

---

At home, I talk to one of my friends. "What did the two of you decide?" he asked.
"We haven't decided anything, really. At least, nothing final. Let's just say that we have an uneasy truce."
"A truce is good," my friend said.
"But there is something," I said.
"Yeah? What's that?"
"We've agreed to start seeing other people. At least, we're talking to other people. We're exploring options, I guess, trying to find out if we're even right for each other. We've actually been having problems for quite some time--longer than we let others know about."
My friend looked hopeful. "This doesn't mean it won't work out, you know. I've seen others go through a lot worse."
"Maybe," I said. "It's not that we've given up hope."

---

That many hours on the road can be good. But, like I've said, you have to be ready to listen to those voices even when you might not want to.