Hmmm, maybe that's why the NW coast tugs at me now--intermittent sun. There were times, when we would camp with family at Sugar Loaf CG at Cascade Reservoir, when the sun would make me feel sad and headachy. One afternoon, N found me sweaty and sobbing in our sweltering tent. Not the sanest thing I've ever done, but there was nowhere else to find private relief.
And I'd almost forgotten the summer we went to Indianapolis to visit daughter. The best part was spending time with oldest daughter and seeing the sites, but the worst part was the constant summer haze. It seemed to defuse the sunlight into a constant glare pointed at my eyes and then drilled through my brain.
I feel most happy and settled when I'm amongst the trees and green. When we lived in the south end of the state, I can remember driving northward, away from the bare, rolling hills, and feeling the relief wash over me, as the trees grew taller and crowded together on the hillsides, awash in soothing shades of green.
The Trees
by Philip Larkin
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
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