Squishy squish in the mucky muck.

The bright lights and fast pace of success are quite enchanting. If you don't want to, you never have to to stop, never slow, never listen, never feel. But that's not to say you miss everything. Maybe you catch more because more is flashing before your eyes. Maybe you don't.

I imagine it like water skiing. The thrill of gliding across the water. Without significant speed, what you're doing is impossible. Slow down and it won't work. You'll sink, literally. Maybe you stare the wake in the eye like an old west outlaw who's crossed your path one too many times.

All the while you're out doing impossible things, conquering foes, in full command or barely hanging on, amazing things are happening all around. Perhaps some bugs flew too near the surface of the water and became trapped by your marvelous wake. A lurking trout sees a prime opportunity and swirls to the surface for its desperately fluttering meal.

Or perhaps there was a bullfrog sitting on a mostly submerged fallen tree an arms reach from the shore. Its glassy hardly-blinking eyes are watching a bug swirling just above the water. Just as the insect comes within reach a wake from a boat crashes against the shore, startling the frog and causing it to jump underwater.

Maybe a father is on a "squeegee hunt" with his young son. They've got charcoal on their faces and ferns tied 'round their heads, completely invisible to the untrained eye and especially to squeegees. They are in hot pursuit when they notice the an incredibly large bullfrog. It's so big, it must be the bullfrog king. Quietly, they sneak toward the shore. With held breath and eager hands, the son reaches closer, closer... closer. "wwwwwwaaaaaaAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!" A boat goes roaring by with a skiier and the frog jumps into the water, returning to his due place on the bullfrog throne. There will be bullfrogs to be caught another day, but for now there are squeegees to be hunted! "ONWARD!" a little voice proclaims. The squishy squish of big boots and little boots in the mucky muck of the mud fades to a gentle crunching of twigs and pine needles. The hunt is on.

Is life in the delicate, rugged details or the fast paced impossible. Can you have both? They seem to be mutually exclusive but I hope that isn't true. Maybe at the moment the frog king returned to his throne his hunter and a similarly aged child on the boat caught each others gaze. The type of loaded gaze that lasts fractions of a second and never enters consciousness like something on the tip of your tongue that you never quite figure out. Perhaps a wordless conversation about trading places and wondering what its like to go so fast on the top of the water without sinking or what its like to go on an adventure with sticks and charcoal and ferns.

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You see, the old wood floor and the old brick wall have stories to tell; so many stories, but I haven't the time to listen.

Coffee House Northwest

1951 W Burnside St

Portland, OR 97209