Low Skies

With low skies and an eternal longing, we drive along twenty switchbacks to the top of the mountain. We pass two cyclists whose pathway has not been blocked by road construction. It is our last morning here, though I could stay forever.
 At the top of the mountain on day three, the clouds hover over the sound and threaten rain that will not make an entrance. By mid afternoon we will be bottlenecked in Seattle traffic, the clouds will clear, and our only view will be of the Space Needle from I-5’s perspective.
 But for now, I soak up five minutes of LTE to finish up some work and argue with adults about what constitutes a substantive post; I take a picture for tourists who can see the island they were on yesterday and want it for their Christmas card; I take a picture of my family, sans me, with the gray skies and San Juans a perfect background for anyone wanting a perfect background.
 We are trapped here, in these low skies and this photo, for an eternal moment of perfection, of cool Washington air and windless peace; of nature and man (with the stone tower built by the CCC to give us the best view), of the climb that I was denied and that my Pilot conquered easily; of the love for all that is beautiful on this earth.

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