A bit of a nice break from the heat, this. A few days break. Not quite Fall’s first kiss, but a bit of a tease. These moments. The sunset over Portland, bits of brilliant light crackling out from behind watercolor clouds. I collect these moments the way I used to collect baseball cards and matchbox cars as a child. True, there are other collections. Rocks. Books. But these moments have more staying power. Not because memory is an infallible thing. Not because I take pictures to try and capture each moment. But because these moments exist in memory, like bugs preserved in amber, whether I retain the context or not. Even the best of memories fade. What does not fade is this moment, this setting sun, the hawk that flew over earlier, a train whistle calling from the 14th Street bridge, that crackling light fading the way a bonfire fades, only to become the ember of a fire as of yet unborn. This.