Music and Cats

Shortly after noon, I walked toward the Market, staring up at a newly blue and chilly sky. Near Rachel the Pig, I watched tourists buy freshly-thrown fish. Christina arrived wearing sunglasses. We wound our way up Post Alley to a small Thai restaurant, warmed ourselves on tom ka gai, green curry and conversation.

When we came out onto Pine Street, the sunshine was gone. On Elliott Bay, a Coast Guard boat gleamed whitely against wind-whipped green-gray water and opaque charcoal sky. We stood on the sidewalk for a few moments, mesmerized by the view. As we walked toward my office, the incoming storm pushed at our backs.

The front reached downtown minutes later, full of thunder and lighting, hail and rain. Thunderstorms are rare in Seattle, and this child of the Texas coast misses them. When I heard the first hammers of thunder, I wanted to rush to the window and press my face to the glass. I longed to see the flash. But I was in a meeting, so I stayed in my chair.

The storm blew through quickly, leaving in its wake a cold Seattle rain. I walked to the bus stop in the early dark, dry beneath the blue sky of my umbrella. As I stepped off my bus at the top of our hill, my breath frosted in the cold, wet air… and miles away at SeaTac, this November became the wettest month on record.

(Post title courtesy of Bruce Springsteen. This stunning photo, from the KOMO TV webcam atop the Columbia Tower, doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing, but it made me smile. Bring it on, Mother Nature. Bring it on.)

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