Sunshine on a Stick

You have to squint, I reckon, but there really is a rainbow there. It was gracing the northwestern view from one of the kitchen windows this morning so I grabbed a shot before it faded out.

Any weather reports that implied occasional sunshine were wildly optimistic. Or maybe they define occasional in a more minimalist fashion than I do. The fact is, the rainbow left the stage and the cloud cover became steadily more sullen and, finally, drippy. Just when I realized I needed to trot over to the post office, having not done that chore since last Monday.

Not a problem. Native Oregonians have had a lot of practice at doing outside stuff in between patches of excessive rain. Not that it's always possible. But native Oregonians also know they won't melt (although we've been known to rust and call it an Oregon tan) and one does dry after being drenched.

In any case, I managed to make the post office run during a stretch of light mist. Good thing, too, because both wind and rain intensified after that, putting outdoor excursions in the category of "You've got to be kidding."

Looking through the dining area window during one of the relatively dry moments, I was inspired to catch a shot of the growing accumulation of wind-scattered fall leaves. There are still a lot more to be blown free of the branches but, as you can see, a significant start has been made.


You may also notice the leaves are turning color in partial phases instead of all at once. It looks like the Autumn Elves have been flying about at night with buckets and brushes in hand, swiping bronze and gold and buttery highlights across the trees. The maple right outside the dining area window is a good example of the technique. One thing about it -- no matter how overcast it is outside, it will never get really drear until all the leaves are gone. All that bright glow is as good as sunshine on a stick.