The city is a forest of concrete, brick, steel and glass. Not a welcoming site for visitors wanting to see the great Pacific Northwest.
When I take the bus up to Capital Hill I am amazed at the amount of construction going on, old signposts are disappearing from the cityscape. One-story shops are being leveled to make way for yet another high-rise condominium project. Familiar neighborhoods are transforming into urban blocks, worker bees heading out to Amazon, Face Book, Microsoft and dozens of smaller tech companies. I see the young faces walking on their way to work and wonder if any of them ever get out and away from our concrete forest into the real forests just minutes away from the city, to get a sample of real life.
There is nothing like taking a picnic and driving up to the Skykomish River and finding a flat rock next to it to spread out a feast and just sit and listen to the songs of the river, feeling the wind and watching birds dart in to find food. Although it can be rough in a few places it is still a gentle river working its way down to the Sound. It is a teacher of tranquility and an anchor of relevance and perspective. Just thinking about it makes me want to pack a lunch jump in my car and head out to highway 2, but it is very cold out there right now and I am hunkered down weathering the temperature, but also the virus scare we are like little mice hold up in our nests until some great emperor of our country or state tells us it is safe to come out. Or are we sheep?
The streets are vacant, shops are closed and grocery stores down on their inventory. Schools are closed, performances cancelled, athletic events postponed. It is like a huge governor has slowed everything down to a very slow walk actually giving us time to reflect. The frenetic pace of tech companies madly trying to out do one another, corner part of the market, make a lot of money has tricked young people into intellectual whirling dervishes mesmerized into a complicated dance will have to learn to slow their pace. At least I hope so.
