The Ink-Pot and the Palette

Last night a goodish storm of the south-wind-and-drenching-rain variety knocked most of the leaves off most of the trees around here.

It didn't dampen the Occupy spirit, however, and though the Occupiers have been evicted from the backyard of the World's Tallest Basement (aka my place of employment), they've continued to march and chant every day in the downtown streets. The police so far have presented a vigilant and sort of rigidly non-violent presence alongside the marchers.

In a peculiarly Portland moment, I was riding westward across the bike-and-pedestrian-only lower deck of the Steel Bridge this morning while a very vocal Occupy protest more or less blocked the upper car deck. A guy had stationed himself about mid-span on the lower deck and was bangin' with drumsticks on the bridge railing and a couple of pots. He was keeping time with the rhythmic chanting of the protesters above. Cyclists, including me, were ringing their bike bells in time to the percussion as they sailed past. It had a kind of gleeful, sonic solidarity to it.

It's been colorful. ( Here are some images. )