On Saturday, it poured. I had such a fun day staying inside making ornaments with everyone at the Come Play! Portland event. Thank you so much to everyone who came out for that. The nicest, sweetest people in the world. I honestly don't think I have laughed that hard in a long time. And everyone was so generous to indulge me talking about myself for six straight hours. Poor girls. I really need to get out more. One of our "conversations" (i.e.: me talking about myself) was about winter: I was trying to describe a winter sunset. The life-long Portlanders in the group were genuinely bewildered: What's a winter sunset? Ohhhh, don't get me started unless you have a half an hour. Longer. Winter sunsets are a topic that I can't stop trying to explain, and can't get right. It's like talking about my grandma, horses, Stevie Nicks, or thunder: things that are not part of my life anymore, but for which I can conjure a physical longing in an instant. I see my grandma's ankles crossed, and her black shoes. I feel warm breath and whiskers on my appled hand. I'm in a room with some lace and paper flowers, singing to a record. I see the bare oak trees from my bedroom window in Chicago, and behind that black lattice of branches the red glow of the sun, sliding into dusk. It's somehow not enough, just to say. I want them all back.

We don't have winter sunsets in Portland. It goes from gray to night. I did see one last winter, during that week of snow (snow: don't get me started there, either) and I almost started bawling: It was a Monday late afternoon, two feet of snow on the ground. All the little girls in my neighborhood were in the front yard with Clover and me. They were in a rainbow of bright snowsuits, hats, mittens, tumbling all over the fresh snow, screaming with laughter, chasing the dog and being chased, pink-cheeked and wet-faced with cold. I looked up and our street was all blue and blush-rose, like alpenglow, a way I'd never seen it. A sob caught in my throat and I missed home so badly I couldn't speak. There was one other sunset I remember here, about nine years ago now. I was driving onto the Broadway Bridge on my way home from work. Mt. Hood rose up at the end of it, gigantic, much bigger than it should have been — some sort of atmospheric optical illusion, like when the moon is huge. The eastbound traffic crawled as if in a trance, all of us staring at that snow-covered mountain lit by the setting sun behind us. I'll never forget it. I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe I was. That was a tough time in my life. I needed to see that.

As I drove home from the event on Saturday, I stopped for a latte at Stumptown on Belmont. On the sidewalk, people were standing still everywhere, looking up at a huge rainbow. We were all smiling stupidly. The coffee-shop guy  breaking down the cardboard boxes out back was grinning ear to ear. I, coming around the corner with my coffee, said, "There just isn't anything wrong with a rainbow, is there!" And he said, "Oh, dude, this pretty much makes my entire week." I knew what he meant. I took this picture from my front porch when I got home. Saturday was just totally great.

Comments

[rustandroses]

Oh, you made my heart swell!
Much love. <3
Jenny

[kate]

Wow, How beautiful Alicia! Kate

[Kristina]

You really have a lovely way of talking about longing. It's one of my favorite reasons to read your blog.

[Rose]

I love how we humans can share a moment like that. Life is beautiful!

[Katie]

I saw the rainbow out my bathroom window on Saturday and yelled "We have to go outside NOW!" It was so cold, but made my day to see such a huge rainbow (even if it wasn't very bright.) Thanks for the reminder. :)

[Julie]

Love your moment with the guy breaking down the boxes. Dude.

[Julie]

Sometimes I feel like I write like a caveman would talk, compared to your beautiful style. {laughing}

[The Curious Cat]

Nature can be so so sublime...if we can find it, take some time out of our day to marvel at it, we can suddenly find the small reasons for why life is worth living. Beautiful photo - and description - goosebumps!!! xxx

[Eileen@Star'sFault]

Alicia ~ It is wonderful to hear you describe your love for horses and winter snow. It snowed here last night. The first snowfall of the year. You know how it is, right? You go to bed, knowing that the sky has that "snow" look, and wake up with 5 inches of brand new fluffy white stuff. The kitties were begging to go outside this morning, out to the dry grass of late fall, and when the door opened they all began to bolt free, only to skid to a halt and then tip-toe out into the cold, shaking their paws as they went.

My horse, who stays in his stall when it rains, was standing outside this morning, a soft, fluffy layer of snow on his neck, tangled in his mane and frosting the top of his winter blanket. He loves it, and seeing him eat his warm mash in the snow this morning was one of those postcard moments.

Wish you were here, I would take you to see it all.

Blessings ~ Eileen @ Star's Fault

[alison]

Sometimes I think I am the only one who looks up at the sky, but I really should know better... You describe it so well, those lambent transitions of light to dark. And I too saw the rainbow, while waiting for a bus home at the intersection of Lombard and Interstate. First a piece of the arch, then it reared up across the sky, brighter at the south end, and with that echo of color arching outside that I think is called a double rainbow.

[Rachel]

Sheesh. You're making me cry at work. This is just lovely.

[Linda]

You really have a way with words. I think and feel theses things especially about my grandma but how do you write like that, "Dude".

[Mandy]

What a lovely post. Usually I lurk on your blog, but today you've mentioned Stevie Nicks and I'm right there with you, lady.
My book blog for teens is called Edge of Seventeen!
I look forward to your posts, and love your blog.

[Auntie M.]

My dear! My dear! We do have winter sunsets in Portland! I see them all the time. Panoramic blazing red sunsets. But lucky me...I can see both Mt. Hood and the coast range. Sunrise and sunsets. What a world. :)

[betz]

I love coming here.

[Viv]

Such a wonderful post. Once again, I can relate to you, Alicia, for it is summer I long for. More specific, the summer nights of my childhood - going to bed while it was still light out, listening to the blackbirds sing their beautiful songs, the murmurs of the grown-ups enjoying a balmy summer evening and feeling safe and secure. The end of one blissful summer day, slowly melting into a warm night, then making way for yet another day filled with wonderful things.
When I took my dog for a walk the other day, I heard a faint melodious singing...a blackbird, sitting very close to me and dreamily conjuring up the images of summers past. I had tears in my eyes then - summer seems an aeon away right now....

[Delilah]

What a beautiful sunset and a beautiful tribute to your grandma and your life in Chicago. I don't know what I love more - sunrise or sunsets or magic hour - the hour after the sun sets and everything is edged in glow.

Thunder - You don't have thunder in Portland?

You should write a book (a novel/bio about your life). You are an interesting lady.

[leanne]

Alicia, i swear, i need 10 more of you in my life. so sweet.

[mo]

The light has been so spectacular this fall. Sometimes in the morning walking the dog, when it is all filtering through the yellow leaves, it just feels so amazing. Two sundays ago my son was playing baseball and there was a double rainbow. Two full rainbows. I saw the one this weekend too. So great.

[Natalie]

You make me smile... in a connected, warmed heart, glad to know you kind of way. Thank you.

[Wendy]

Oh Alicia, you gave me enough eye candy in one photograph to last me all day! Beautiful!

[Beth in Maryland]

Your words took me right back to Chicago in the '70s when I worked at the Hull House Museum. It was so cold in that old building and my desk was right by a drafty window, but I never could tear myself away as the colors of the winter sunset changed and the dark came down. I was looking East across the river towards the Sears Tower, and even now I can feel the anticipation of how cold it's going to be when I step out the door, how bright and busy once I make my way to the Loop. Thanks for making me remember.

[liz elayne]

i am drinking up every single word of this post.
(thank you.)

i want to go back to the house on oak road and stand at the huge living room window looking out over our super long driveway and then potato creek state park and see one of those december sunsets...snow over the fields. how i wish i would have soaked up every second.

[cupcake61]

I am so glad I caught your post today!! I live in Texas and we get unbelievable winter sunsets downs here...its my favorite part of the year..the way the sun sets and glows... and I would really miss it.

[Susan, Tsawwassen, BC]

Sunrises and sunsets ... no two are the same. Whether I'm gawking at sunrises over Mount Baker, WA or sunsets over Vancouver Island, I'm in awe and wondering, too, if others are noticing. I saw a sunset in late September that I will never forget. Driving home from work, the sun was just about to disappear behind behind the deep peacock blue mountains. The sun was a big, flourescent, bright pink ball. Larger than it should have been, as you say, like an optical illusion. I'm not kidding ... it was huge. It had a few wispy blue streaks of clouds across the upper half, the same deep blue as the mountains. The stunning pinky orange colour of the sun, made more intense by its size, you could never replicate ... even the valiant effort I gave it with my coloured pencils as soon as I stepped in the front door could not do it justice. How does nature create such beauty ... and such stunning colours?