1. Buddhist monk at the crosswalk: The hem of his brown robe catches on a crack in the curb as he steps down. He lifts the fabric without looking, forefinger and thumb barely pinching an inch of slack, and keeps walking.
2. Starbuck's barista in a green apron: Red curls spiraling down a kelley green apron, like she's lying in wet November grass. I remember all the times I rolled down hills or stretched out on Iowa dirt, my forearms itching from the poking of dry grass blades, my face flushed in the sunlight, my toes tingling as the breeze blew between them. Sandals thrown to the side. Shirt cinched up. Skirt hem lifted so it barely covered my thighs. In Portland, the grass is brighter and thicker - especially in wet winter - but I've never had the urge to lie down in it. Is it because I'm getting older, or because the landscape is so different - wetter and moldier, no scent of sunshine in the soil? Or am I still resisting? Will I ever stop resisting?
3. Two Portland Police officers on break in the Starbuck's cafe: One of them leans over, balancing on a maple wood chair, his forearm holding his weight. His holster is exposed, the gun inside somehow more powerful for being contained, and it takes on an animated quality, as if by its own volition it might fly out of the belt and start firing. There's a gun in the coffee shop. It radiates energy outward, concentric circles of power. But this relationship works both ways. The policeman stands in the center of these concentric circles, which form an invisible target. This man and his gun are the bulls-eye, and all the nervous glances and stares are aimed like arrows at his back and hip. In this way, the gun neutralizes its own power. The policemen leave, and suddenly, people turn to their books and newspapers again, not bothering to look up as customers come and go.
I think back to the monk, in his simple friar-like robe. He surrounded himself with a different kind of energy, a vortex of peace and quiet. I mean vortex literally - it did not radiate outward, but seemed to sink into itself, so that anyone who came near him was drawn into it. That's stronger than a gun, and something similar to the red curls against the green.