An opposite January day
It’s January, and we didn’t go to the mountains this weekend, at all. It feels strange. Sort of hollow in the gut; an awkward, lost-child sensation. But it’s been raining for a week straight in the PNW ranges, all the way down to Hood. So no going to the snow.
When such happens, Billy and I tend to head the opposite direction—to the coast, or, in this case, our neighborhood bay, in search of the relief that nature provides. It’s not schralping through the mountains, but the deep-blue, wind-blown waves and snow-dusted peaks beyond still get to the heart; it’s soul-cleansing. Fortunately Seattle rests at the edge of the earth, dangling its toes into beautiful Elliot Bay. Panic and run in any western direction in this city and you’re bound to smack into the backdrop of a glimmering sea and jagged skyline of the Olympics.
We went in search of that at Carkeek park, a small ribbon of shoreline in north Magnolia. By the time we arrived, the wind had shooed off the dark clouds, and the sun burnt through its thin veil. We stayed long enough to relax, breathe it all in, and feel simply, simple again. It’s a privilege to live somewhere encased by such beauty. Take your pick here, we’ve got mountains, forests, coasts, that’ll do the trick.
A few moments of resting on a log, after the hike down to the pebbled shore, and we didn’t feel so lost anymore.
At dusk, we rode bikes in a strong headwind down to another, more secretive, cove. Thick clouds had taken over the expanse, stretching their fingers toward the shore. The waves were wild and white-capped. All was fading to gray.