7 June 2007. Bright Thursday, already warming. Stephan's gestures, seen through doorway of pool. The swim coach--bevy of women looking up at him as they lounge for a moment in the shallow end. Gray-green waters--now in the north. Portland canyon, alders and willows, tangle of unnamed grasses, all around the edge. Proliferation of green--impossibly green--verde que te quiero verde--the endless rains giving way to a hot summer afternoon. River valley--the sandy Willamette. Old smells of pulp mills and wood smoke--a working town. The Yamhill Market, horsemeat and mutton--Ginny Gilmore's "continual" stew--we finally had to toss the entire icebox... Quiet now, the summer's visitors yet to appear. Amphitheater on a hillside--rickety wooden benches, set into the slope. Not yet refurbished--no need to, apparently--memories too strong. Like the faces--intelligent, intense--all re-seen...
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