The abysmal morning carries me on a current of dismay at abyss upon abyss, and yet the river of friendship continues to flow toward the Sea — I must believe it does and that these many changing lines must point to a place downstream past these eddies of confusion and propaganda to where the river turns again to flow toward the places I love, west past Umatilla, The Dalles, Hood River, Multnomah Falls, the criss-cross bridges of Portland, Astoria, the Sea — to join with the sunset and ride the roller-coaster of dangerous water over the bucking bar of November and into the calm but terrifying Sea.

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