Northwestern state of mind
In the Pacific Northwest they say “these ones,”
what about “these ones,”
how do you like “these ones?”
They walk in the rain
just like walking in the sun,
no umbrella, just jackets that shimmer.
There’s a way about the people,
a gentle affectation in the eyes
as they listen to each other speak.
There’s a kindness in their disregard
for the homeless camped
on their sidewalks.
Roof is pronounced as “ruff,”
and you’ll hear many an utterance
of “oh jeez” in casual conversation.
But when you’re out here,
there’s never a doubt
you’re living your best life,
watching the clouds envelope the hills
like cobwebs caught in trees and eaves,
the foggy dreaminess of the drizzle,
sometimes a sundog casts
its iridescent glow amid the billows
of light-formed statues,
and it’s like a lantern lit
from the inside, a reminder
of the star on the other side
of this daydream.
The rain is rarely more than intermittent,
and soon, soon the sky will reveal itself.