It was a beautiful Summer morning today in Seattle, warm and cloudless, backlit by sunsparkle off the bay, and flavored by a light, salty breeze. Bright sunlight simultaneously played a solo game of hopscotch across glass-sheathed high-rises and hide-and-seek with the shadows among the brick protuberances of our older, low-rise buildings, both games umpired by silent gargoyles resident among the brick who are seldom acknowledged by those of us walking underneath.
On at least two occasions during my morning walk, solitary seagulls cried raucously and loudly from directly overhead, accompanied by faint choruses of their cousins soaring along the not-so-distant waterfront. Instead of being overwhelming, the brisk, Friday-light traffic served as a continuous grace note to the gulls’ cries echoing between the walls of the shadowed, street-level canyons down which I traveled.
Walks such as this are not an everyday occurrence in Seattle, for perfect weather conditions must coincide with a perfect mood in the beholder for any day to become filled with such pleasures. While the chance that all of the necessary ingredients for a magical day will come together in just the right proportions is not high, days such as this happen sufficiently often in Seattle that they cannot be considered a rarity. And this time of year, their frequency is higher because the clouds are fewer and the days are longer.
There is something in the trick of the morning light among the brick-and-glass-walled canyons of any major city that reminds us that rudimentary, ageless pleasures are just as much a part of the warp and woof of urban life as more sophisticated things and delights. Perhaps it is the evanescence of its cool promises which quickly fade as the temperature rises toward the Noon and the city quickens with the lengthening day.
