Portland was inspiring. I remembered the part of me that drinks too much coffee and too many vodka mules, that still wants a tattoo; the part of me that dances, that likes to be alone, can spend an hour on the floor of the poetry section and get up at five in the morning to write. Portland was spring rain, cherry blossom, flat whites, lumberjack shirts, fairy lights, weather-boarded houses, new books, old books, new tunes, old friends, new dances, beards, beanies, food carts, handmade, heart song. My soul is rested.
Posted by Louisa Thomsen Brits on 25 April 2012