Homecoming

Our delightful week in Ashland, Oregon is over. Our last play Thursday night was "Cyrano de Bergerac", and a rousing and lovely performance it was. There were thirty or so actors playing multiple roles on the outdoor Elizabethan stage, in gorgeous costumes and fine fettle. The guy who played Cyrano was magnificent. We learned at the backstage tour Friday morning that he goes through prosthetic noses at the rate of one about every eight performances, so they had to have a box of noses ready for him during this play's run. ("It bleeds - the Red Sea!") I read Cyrano in high school French class, and had both French and English versions to work on my understanding. The translation the Oregon Shakespeare Festival used was excellent, and gave a good sense of the poetic quality of Rostand's work. The character of Cyrano struck me as not just outrageously comic, but as a standard for personal integrity. He wouldn't stand a chance in today's social cesspit.
Beloved spouse and I got a bit of a hike in the early afternoon before the play. We drove up to Mount Ashland and headed out four miles along the Pacific Crest Trail where it goes onto Mt. Ashland's flank. As we drove up the mountain road, we were in heavy clouds, which disappeared as we got higher. The trail went through spruce woods, alpine meadows, over little creeks and rivulets which created tiny seep gardens full of orchid-like flowers, shooting stars, as well as several I couldn't identify. At the midpoint of our hike, we were on an alpine rise high enough to catch a band of passing clouds. Shreds of mist drifted over and around us, creating alternating warm and cool air and varying visibility, an intensely stimulating sensation.
We got back to an equally lovely climate in Seattle, with more perfect days ahead.