This world has become a thorny rose.
It always has been... but I believe that the thorns are longer, and sharper, and multiplying. It seems to me that the stem is getting longer, steeper, higher.
However, I think the flower itself might be getting fuller. And the fumes that are given off of it becoming richer.
Reasoning for this dumb statement:
Seattle is a mix of wonders, types, people, and landscapes.
It provokes thought, ideas, emotion, connection, interpretation, determination.
There is a lot of scariness mixed up in it all.
But there is the ONE very important thing that intoxicates this city with the aroma of roses:
The freelance performers with their guitars.
How is it that a single person can fill a bustling street of confusion and noise with peace and authentic content with nothing but a large stringed instrument?
Everything about this continuous incident- the scruffy beard, the long-ish dirty hair, the tanned dry fingers, the eyes mirroring the Puget Sound, the sound not sounding like "puget" but like "a lark at the break of day arising".
It has all been the subconscious reason of everyone who enters this city, to return. Like a narcotic calling back its addict, Seattle calls to its children of the world.
I love this city. I will be back to you, one day, my sweet drug.
A perfect village farmer's market, downtown
Of course there's fish. They live off the stuff.
Ah, the Puget Sound
Me, Sarah, and Patti at Pike's Place.
Oh, also, we went to Vancouver... here's a little taste of the Pacific
Post Script (S.Shill)
Here lies the world's first ever- Starbucks. Gah.