I just spent one of the most perfect weekends I’ve had in a long while. I think I owe it all to the sun shining so brightly all weekend. It was in the 60s here and we were able to stroll to the farmer’s market on Saturday morning to eat a giant cinnamon roll in the morning sun. We took a long walk through Portland on Valentine’s Day, around the river and across the bridges, in athletic jackets alone (my down jacket took a mini vacation). On Sunday, I was able to open all the windows in the house and let the dappled light stream in. It felt magical. And everyone else in Portland must have felt the same.
The streets were crowded with families, with couples strolling hand-in-hand, with people picnicking, and dogs soaking wet after swimming for sticks in the river. It felt like some kind of summer weekend where the waterfront is crowded with people eating ice cream cones and generally just loving life. On a bigger scale, it worries me a bit to see such warm and erratic weather (mid-sixties in early February), but to feel the sun and see the little blossoms and leaves growing throughout the city filled my soul with everything it needed.