Loading logs onto an oceangoing freighter at Budd Bay. Note the men on top of the log piles.
It’s a blustery and chilly day here in Olympia – the wind’s battering the house and I’m about to don my scarf and Patagonia wading jacket and make my way up across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge and into Gig Harbor for a long day of business.
The days are growing shorter – often I find myself outside running in the early dawn, the faint light made even more mute by stubborn fog that seems to make each step a small adventure all of its own. A few days ago during such a run I found a neighborhood playground with a climbing rope; the discovery has been the undisputed highlight of my week. I would always rather workout outside, and somehow the climbing rope, as little as it is, seems to relate to a lot in my life right now.
The winter light is here – dull and washed out and waning. I’m wrapping up a few projects, chasing others and always keeping a keen eye open for the next adventure; the next story. I’ve thrown a lot onto the metaphorical wall over the past six weeks, and I’m interested to see what falls off and what sticks.
Something always does.
Tags: Scenes
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