My morning commute put me right back on Hurricane Island on one of those sweet, warm, foggy mornings that makes my heart hurt with a mixture of joy at being alive, longing for days past, the urge to run away down the coast to find a beautiful spot to just be…
It was sunny and bright at my house when I pulled my bike out of my shed. I didn’t even notice the fog sitting over the river until I reached the end of D Street and saw that peculiar glow in the air. Up on the bridge, I looked ahead and saw trucks emerging from a bank of fog so thick I couldn’t see the middle of the bridge, let alone Portland. The air was full of sparkle, glowing. I felt like I was in a wormhole connecting me to one of those Hurricane mornings… I could hear the gulls, hear the waves, smell Hurricane Sound.
The right lens of my sunglasses was completely fogged up by the time I crossed the lifting spans. I had to take my glasses off and wipe them on my leg. And with that, I rolled into clear sunshine in Portland.
I love those mornings that smack me in the face and say “see! you live in one of the most beautiful places in the world! get out and love it!”