Here in Oregon, we long for the sun, to come, to shine down upon us.
So we can complain the sun shines too hot
That it's too humid, or too dry
That skin cancer will be our fate
That wildfires will consume our land
We feel bland when our camp trips are not rain soaked
We lean into wind on an Oregon beach, barefoot and freezing
Teeth gritted. We're having fun, damn it.
Gray mornings. Gray noons. Gray evenings. Drizzle, fog, downpours, wind.
Why don't we move, for gosh sakes?
Head out in junk packed caravans, piled high, in long lines....
Sunshine or Bust
We love our misery?
Do you own an umbrella?