The Crest

The communities around Hawthorne Boulevard in Old Portland City gathered for the celebration. It was an outlandish gathering, certainly one of the more offbeat in the Pacific Northwest, it was not a Saturnalia or a summer solstice ritual. Nor was this a floral parade, harvest celebration, or a pageant of roses. No this was different; it was a tribute to the photosynthesis process itself. It was the salacious photosynthesis festival.

On the top of Mt. Tabor, the trees swayed in quiet anticipation. The residents built an enormous bonfire on the apex itself, the flames kissing the twilight, seen for a mile in every direction. The drums commenced a slow steady cadence and they reverberated down the hill into the communities below. All the neighborhoods were involved in the festival, and despite the Shift, these communities would not be denied their sacramental.

Maggie, the old flower child was there to emcee. She’d organized this event for forty years. She began the ceremony. “Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you the Festival of Photosynthesis. More relevant than ever. More powerful than ever. More magical than before, and the only one in the world.” The crowd of thousands clapped and cheered.

“Now I introduce to you, the creator of all life. We behold the miracle called photosynthesis. The bonfire represents our Sun. All hail to the Sun.”

“All hail to the Sun,” the crowd replied.

She continued. “Emerging from the sun are photons. These are light particles, millions of light particles softly hitting the leaves themselves. From our very own neighborhood, I present to you the Mt Tabor ballet ensemble. All hail to the photons.”

The crowd responded, “All hail to the photons.”

Twenty-five yellow painted and naked men and women, representing photons, fluttered around the bonfire.

The dancers began their ballet dance weaving in and out of huge green painted and wooden leaves that stood at the four cardinal directions around the bonfire. The dancers began with sissonne and then followed around the fire with a brisk assemble. In and out they pivoted in front of the crowd. The firelight creating a visual effect that captivated the group. The photons finished with a grand battement; promenade; and a final piqué into a balance. The photons froze while the emcee introduced the next group.

The percussionists behind the scenes increased the beat significantly. “Next, we have the Laurelhurst belly dancers portraying water molecules. Water is essential for photosynthesis. Our precious water is broken down into oxygen, hydrogen, and electrons. All hail to the water molecules.”

The crowd responded, “All hail to the water molecules.”

The Laurelhurst troupe, the water molecules, entered the scene. They wore blue striped dresses with vertical white bands. Their outfits were sparkling with glittering gold and silver rhinestones.

The thirty belly dancers began bopping with percussive, sharp movements with their hips and shoulders thrashing to the drum punctuation. The water molecule dancers began their final fluid movements with sinuous motions aligned to the drummer’s improvisation. As the dancers jiggled their way around the bonfire, spectators sprinkled water in the air. Now the dancers danced faster around the fire.

The crowd grew ecstatic. The yellow photon dancers continued their ballet dance circling in and out of the giant green leaves while the water molecule belly dancers moved like a snake in and around the bonfire.

Maggie explained the next action, “Carbon dioxide is taken up by the plant, as a part of the photosynthesis process. It is converted into plant material. We bring to you the Sunnyside neighborhood and its salsa dancers representing carbon dioxide. All hail to the carbon dioxide molecules.”

“All hail to the carbon dioxide molecules.”

Twenty dancers from Sunnyside acted as carbon dioxide molecules. The dancers were decked out in purple crystal embellished dresses, with a halter neckline and tassels.” Maggie proclaimed to the group.

The crowd went wild. The carbon dioxide salsa dancers jittered and floated in and out of the yellow nude photons, and the water molecules.

Now the drums beat their loudest, their cadence picking up.

Maggie explained, “One carbon dioxide bonds with two water molecules in the presence of our photons, creating a carbohydrate molecule and an oxygen.”

Now an exotic, almost orgy-like scene took place with water molecule belly dancers rubbing hips with a salsa carbon dioxide dancer. Their hips thrust into each other while the photon dancer whirled around the union waving their arms in energetic fashion.

In the dark glow of the bonfire, the thousands of spectators began to dance and clap their hands.

The photons continued whirling around the bonfire. The water molecules and the carbon dioxide latched together in a samba line dance. Two concentric circles of samba dancers moved around the bonfire.

Maggie spoke, “Out of the darkness comes the carbohydrate molecules, these are the Irish Step Dancers from the Kern neighborhood. All hail to the carbohydrate molecules.”

“All hail to the carbohydrate molecules,” the crowd repeated.

The beating turned into rhythmic tapping and clapping. The footwork matched the stiff upper body of the high steppers. The step dancers moved through intricate patterns that wowed the crowd and now they formed a larger circle outside the moving circles of samba dancers.

“Lastly, we have from the Hawthorne neighborhood the Judgment Day Strippers from the I Found God Parlor House. The dancers represent oxygen molecules given off by the process of photosynthesis. All hail to the oxygen molecules.”

“All hail to the oxygen molecules.”

The strip dancers arrived at the arena with rhinestone fishnet stockings and garters. They moved sensuously throughout the beating procession, the lines now pulsating with the drums. On their bare bodies was the symbol O2 painted in blue. Anklets, bracelets, and necklaces adorned their appendages.

The dancers intertwined like two serpents circling the bonfire. The crowd stood enthralled. They screamed delight, such beauty, such joy where no joy could be found in the Shift. The throng danced throughout the night and into the early morning while couples lay down in the shadows and made love.

The flames subsided, the energy waned, but as the spectators walked home, they felt renewed pride in their abandoned metropolis. They thought who needs the enclave? This was how they celebrated life in Old Portland City and it felt damn good.