After a stellar Autumn day in Bend, Oregon, I went out on my back deck to take in the twilight-cooled, dry, pine-scented air. After living on the coast for so many years and accustomed to the feeling and sound of the ocean's moist breath, this environment has its own particular flavor. The ground is tough, rocky and decorated by withered needles that fall almost invisibly from supremely proud-looking evergreens. A fine dust, the remains of once terrifying volcanoes or eroded desert sands, paints surfaces and sky with an ochre and sienna tinge.
For me this place is new, neither better nor more magical than living amidst the seagull's call, but for now, bathed in this early evening radiance, I am fortunate to call this home.