Day FiftySix [2/25] 56:365
My childhood quadrant of Portland was North. I had a pocket of privacy all to myself. The bluff. The plateau that looked onto my city. The panoramic view of the West Hills meeting the river as far as the eye could see. A green bridge off in the far distance connecting Northwest Industrial area to St. John's.
Warm summer nights sat on a blanket watching the sunset behind the hill. Snow days looking at the city white for just a moment in time.
It was my sanctuary. My quite. My thinking. It gave me rest and relaxation. It gave me good memories and long conversations on the phone. I ran to you through all the times in my life.
Now you are but an overcrowded jungle of bicycles and young adults swarming the cool spot. You are no longer a silent desert but a wild overgrown patch.
I miss you. And what you once were. There is no more room for me to visit but know you are my first runaway.
You will be missed.