I am absolutely positive I live in the most beautiful city in the world. I hate this time of the year, with its miserable, short days, but when I was driving to the Bagel Deli on Capitol Hill I could see over the crest the insanely pink tips of the snow-dusted Olympic Mountains and it took my breath away. What did I do to deserve this? Is it karma from an earlier life? Is it for holding the hand of MeowMeow on the plane yesterday when we were landing and she was trying not to cry?
Over the bridge, and the waters of Lake Washington are smoke-gray and glassy. I expect to see a plesiosaurus break the water; instead, I see beech yellows and maple reds on the shore, curving around and in and off into the distance. A tiny cloudlet glides just above Seward Park's pine trees. It is too perfect to be real, too exquisite for me to capture with my thin words, too fleeting.