We’ve had the warmest seven-day stretch of sunshiny spring weather in Seattle’s recorded history, giving us a little bit of July in April, perfect for a waterfront spin from bay to breakers with a couple of stops in-between to admire the humorously-beautiful vistas that abound in our fair city.
I did a little solo pre-funk at the new and improved Pier 62 and watched as a cargo ship belched out bus-sized plume of black diesel smoke which dissipated first to a giant heart-shaped cloud of disgusting and then eventually, just merged into the smoggy edges of the sky; once you couldn’t see it anymore, it was like it never happened, no doubt just what the owners of said vessel had counted on all along.
And so, the invisible ugliness disappears, leaving only the glorious for us to appreciate, of which there was plenty, including the perfect mirrored upside-down trees in the seaside lagoon, several herons blending into the twilight, and a quarter moon winking out from behind the newest brand-new skyscraper, much to the intentional or unintentional joy of the project’s architects and realtors, even if the latter are quaking in their wingtips over the prospect of the final boom in Seattle’s current moment before our next inevitable bust.
The bicycle allows you to access those places that park designers probably imagined would be easy walks to get to, but in reality, are just a little bit farther way that the alleged 10 thousand steps most people claim to aspiring towards; so much the better. It keeps the riff-raff out, or perhaps more appropriately, allows the riff-raff to assemble within with hardly a civilian in sight, apart from magical youngsters and their benignly-neglectful parents.
I marvel at how lucky we are to be able to feast our eyes on aesthetic marvels time and again. Sure, we’ve been to this place more times than can be counted, but these eyes never tire of drinking all of it in.
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