City Fort

There I was standing on a tiny stretch of beach along the Willamette River at 6:25 on a Sunday morning.

Nobody was on the river. I passed only one tent on the trail, which surprised me, because if I was homeless in the city, I’d be living by the river and trying to harvest some sustenance from it.

I noticed some stray beaverwood. I noticed the remains of camp fires. The driftwood was slim pick-ins, but I scrounged here and there and went to work.

Thirty minutes later I stood back and admired a serviceable fort. No doubt it would enchant someone, probably homeless. Maybe a homeless person would sit inside the fort, steady themselves, recollect a cherished fort from childhood (we all have one) and began to dive deep into clarity, and perhaps change. A stupid notion? No! It can happen when building or after entering a driftwood fort. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it.

Infinitely better (and cheaper) than the jargon a generic and clueless therapist invariably provides.