View from Council Crest Park toward Mt. Hood, which luminesces in the silvery sunlight filtered through high altitude clouds of ice crystals. The kind of sky we called a “snow sky” when I was a kid in Nebraska. It feels like snow. A fierce Arctic wind blows from the east to northeast, bringing the windchill to 5° F. Tears are frozen to my cheeks. In the foreground my cyclocross racing bike (with fat “gravel” tires) leans against a 3ft. decorative wall. The Douglas firs in the near midground groan under the strain of 30mph wind. I have sweat too much working to get up here today, that sweat will cool on the descent and I’ll arrive home with fingers and toes so numb that I perceive them not so much as cold as being pierced or crushed.


Thu, 11:34 a.m.