OMG—the Spokane river is rising and rushing in a way I’ve not seen in 23 years. It’s so amazingly impressive I’m tempted to throw in a plethora of $.05 adjectives and adverbs and bore you silly. Instead, I’ll just impart two things:
- The water surging through the falls [did you know our city used to be called Spokane Falls? What fool changed that?!] pounds the basalt under the pedestrian bridge and shoots 100+ foot mist-showers infusing everyone old, small, buff and goofy who’ve come out for this awesome river spectacle to laugh and leap with actual glee!
- At another one of our semi-wild parks, the quasi-spouse and I walk along the river’s new cut shoreline and I see five milk jugs hanging off a tree branch. They’re cut to carry water. We gawk and ponder and walk on when we almost stumble into two rows of peas sliced into the duff. Then a few feet further, lines of green beans, barely discernible, carve the wild-scape and over to the right a circle of something not sprouted enough to tell. Guerrilla gardens. Right here in Spokaloo. Who knew?
Quasi, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Spokane anymore. We must be over the rainbow.