And having complained about the orange box polluting my view, I now find that the windstorm we're in the middle of has blown it to the foot of the hillside behind some ground cover. It's still very orange, but it's no longer very visible.
This is apparently an extraordinarily lucky event. Earlier this week, I was complaining to one of my neighbors on the sixth floor that I didn't hear any of the thunder that was forecast a couple days ago. (I like thunderstorms. They are one of the few things I miss about St. Louis, where I went to high school.) He responded that nothing ever happens around here. "All hell can be breaking loose all over Portland, and we get nothing," he said with a smile.
We're huddled up against the east face of the hills, and I guess they serve as a shield against most weather, which tends to come from the west, swoop up over hills, and not come down to earth again until a few miles away.
But the Pineapple Express, which is currently soaking northern California, comes at us from the south, so the windstorm came right through. Electric and phone lines are down, light rail is on-again-off-again, tree branches are being blown into the streets, but my orange box is gone.
Thank you, Pineapple Express!