Despite the cold weather and the rain, Seattle is amazing. We haven’t had a day to simply sit and be, but it’s worth it. Chris and I have romped about the city on a variety of buses, going to museums and markets and libraries. The bookstores (and there are many) have been yielding wonderful fruits. Though the bookstore between Elliot Bay and Pioneer Square didn’t have any books on ether or light from 1870 it was still fun. Found things by Ugly Duckling Press, a small press out of Brooklyn, and the covers alone were inspiring. Beautifully crafted journals, small editions and what looked like letter press interiors.
The grey skies have been quite suited. Pearled clouds every now and again, and a snow advisory for tomorrow. Colder than it was in winter, according to my aunt. I don’t doubt it.
I wish I had more thoughtful things to say. More intellectually layered, more imagistically rich. But I don’t. I have run myself a bit ragged over the past two quarters in Riverside, and I thought by now I would know if it was going to pay off, but I don’t. I expect too much, too quickly, I suppose.