my own private Oregon

Mother Nature is in full labor in the Willamette Valley. Daylight savings time. Sunny days. Short sleeves. The perfume of daphne (the flower, not the deceased author). What more could a boy and his dog ask for?

We Oregonians are accustomed to the false spring of mid-February. One of those little tricks that the weather plays on us every year. The drizzle stops and the sun makes a Norma Desmond entrance -- for a day or two.

We lack groundhogs. Perhaps an opossum noses around in the daylight and is frightened of his shadow. In any event, our day of delight quickly turns into a Cruise-with-Noah marathon. Eventually, the clouds part and the rain stops -- and we have the type of summers others lie about. I would take a summer in Oregon over any other place.

But this year, we have been literally luxuriating in what appears to be a true spring in March.

During the past week, I have taken a series of pictures to illustrate the walk that Jiggs and I usually take. Michael Dickson has posted a similar series of his walk routine in Michoacan -- to great effect. I will do that -- soon.

But right now, I just wanted to share a few of the vignettes that have brought pure joy to me -- and The Professor.