Thursday, October 28, 2010

There is nothing more Portland than Mount Tabor, boom, boom

....and left this fertile land....

When the rains come and you're feeling down in the Rosy City, nothing quite compares to a visit to Mount Tabor. This is the Portland I remember, the fir smell, the air, one climb and it all came back. The old volcano is a temple of peace in this city, no other city I've been to has anything like it. The ancient fire within warms your heart, others in the park notice it too, it's a little like on Shasta but uniquely itself in its easy reachability. Several buslines take you there, the 14, 15, and 4 at least all go near, and if you have a car you can drive up at least part of the way. Need a break from hipsters on Hawthorne? Look east and up.

"Clackamas, paws, boom boom" beats the heart of the volcano maiden

To the west look down at the city, to the east look out at Hana, Mount Hood
Sister of Tabor
Hana stands clear with glowing white hair
a little pink in the setting sun
her sister called and said come see me
so now I am here and today the sky's clear
so I could walk cross the evergreen branch and go and see Her too
"It's cold up here," She says, "are you prepared?
And storms come quick so leave if you're scared."
Then the wind whistled and all I could see
was millions of Firs putting hands out for me
Timberline, she died here and her ashes were spread
falling like rain on Hana's white head
On adventurous days, she says, her hair turns pink
come next sunny day and I'll get you a drink (spring)
oh Hana oh Hana we sit and watch you from Tabor's green hall in the fall
and down will come baby, Craters and all

hoods like hana
craters and all

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