It's Wednesday morning in Seattle.
'The fog creeps in on little cats feet' - Carl Sandburg said.
The city looks ethereal. Wisps of rosy tinted fog support giant
skyscrapers floating, cut off from their usual moorings,
here and there appearing as an island through a window in the fog.
The dawn holds promise of a crispy, brilliant late fall day
as it gently erases the festoons of mist.
Window shopping at the Pike Place Market and lingering
over a late lunch would be much preferable to communing with my computer.
But I park in the garage. As I wend my way through the Secret Garden,
the fragrance of a late Rugosa rose perfumes a quiet corner
and the Strawberry Tree holds out a trio of succulent fruit for breakfast dessert.
The fallen leaves of flowering cherry and maple whisper crisply underfoot.
Brilliant gold doubloons flutter from the weeping birch that
line the paths across the campus. It is so-o good to be alive -
Love you all such bunches, Connie
Connie's Cataract Surgery