The Olympics are so pretty this morning. They’re lit by the sun, but sandwiched between a voluptuous mat of rain-heavy clouds, and a second layer of foggy low-liers marbling the hamlet of Ballard and the trees of further out in the Sound. Because of that reflection, punctuating the the muted shapes today, the mountains seem close, and celebrated. Its wonderful to see them this early in the morning. It brightens and and quickens despite the dull of a late slumber under February’s first overcast morn.
I wish I’d seen Kentucky that way, I wish I had some better eye to cast on a better more glorious monument. It’s not why I left there, but its a big part of why I come home here.
I tell ya though, KY summer nights are making a big run on WA mountain mornings. I’ve got at least four-five more months of this depressive gray to get through. Seattle is so masochistic.
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