night air: a respite
vanquishing the summer’s heat
longing for raindrops
the gift of friendship
sunlight shines through darkest clouds
this day filled with grace
Summertime is upon us. It’s definitely arrived in Seattle, though looks like it might pause this weekend. I hope you’re feeling the pleasent joys summer brings.
Calming coolness upon me
Memories of walking, early morning, Seattle
Along the peak of Capitol Hill
Downwards through the city
Before urban life starts
Before thousands of coffee cups
Deliver their payloads
in the morning air
mists drifting upon the breeze
clouds dancing past
rolling with the rain
there’s thunder in Seattle
the crows now silent
I wasn’t expecting thunder and lightening this morning. That’s rather atypical for Seattle. It brings back many memories for me, though. Life in the tropics had many joys.
bees move to the next bloom
my feet on concrete
Ok, this is not a haiku nor a poem. I hope you can forgive the deviation from my norm. Today I read a piece by Seattle writer Angela Garbes. It resonated deeply with me, so I wanted to share with you, my friends.
Published in the Seattle Met, “As Seattle Grew, I grew Up” mirrors my own experience. I, too, spent my ‘feral 20s’ wandering Capitol Hill, where I lived the better part of 10 years of my life. Seeking the urban as a cyclist seeking a car-free life, and the vibrancy I imagined coming with concrete. Years making mostly minimum wage, yet able to survive. Gentrification just starting to squeeze. I being able to rise up the wage rungs quickly enough to stay above the flood waters of economic calamity.
My revisits come filled with memories. Oh, “this was here”, and “that was there”. Then “what WAS here”? Memories combine with memory’s absence; strange feelings, ones that I’m not quite used to.
“Cities are meant to change”. Seattle’s changed, quite a bit. Driving home how time has passed, how much older I’ve become. Things I’m not quite ready to accept, so they keep rearing up. Such is the way of things I guess.
Well, I’ll finish with a haiku: it’s what my soul wants.
these old concrete walks
echoing my youth’s footsteps