Muse

Bentleys and bmw's, volkswagons and minivans, hippies and hemp, old folks and their dogs - the people are much louder then the dogs who don't bark when they outnumber us. Marymoor park in the fall, the sky a classic northwest gray, the wind slow but still biting. Traffic annoying until I think of all the lives it represents. An eclectic melding of people, a clash of culture and humanity. I like that the traffic jam is lined with trees so it feels like three thousand and seven people are on a nature walk and taking a collective breath before we gather up our kinetic energy and continue on the trail. Skyscrapers rising from mountain ranges, industry through the mist, blessed water just on the other side of a famous market. Orange coveralls shout and laugh and flying fish delight tourists and children and I am delighted, but I am not a tourist. A Porsche at a highschool game, a homeless woman tells me what she will have for lunch and this new, little condo cost more then that familiar house. Sweaters and cartigans, trenchcoats and fedoras, umbrellas and golashes. Perfectly unshaven with an italian name finds his way, goose down vest paddles a kayak to certain peace.

Waking up to windstorms and soaked earth, loving the feeling of a fireplace on my toes. Savoring the smell of gingerbread and soup and the sounds of piano. Wishing for someone to climb a tree with.