Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away. On my way to where the air is sweet.

Can you tell me how to get, how to get to...

Different perspective.

The morning sparkles.

 

Portland is a city of antithesis. The gray sits over us most of the fall through spring,

but with it there is always a smidge of hope, the possibility of unexpected rays of light,

a promise being whispered in the breeze.

We learn to watch for this, and don't take for granted when they show up.

...and I say, it's alright.

Clouds.

You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last 

But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast 

Yonder stands your orphan with his gun 

Crying like a fire in the sun 

Look out the saints are comin’ through 

And it’s all over now, Baby Blue.

- Bob Dylan