A DRIZZLE SENT SLOW shivers through the puddles that lay along the warped boards of pier 68. Through my headphones came sweet, blue reverberations of Wes Montogomery‘s guitar. I stared out into grey clouds, deep shuddering waves, and then back towards the towering city – cranes perched over a changing skyline.
Next to the pier a behemoth was docked. Across its stern read “Kauai” in large print. It was an enormous, beige, rusted freighter. It blocked the views of the modern waterfront condos, of the Alaskan Way hotels.
I had spent the morning roaming Seattle streets, soaking in my final day; I picked up a New Yorker at the Pike Place newstand and read it liesurely over a riccotta and marmalade crumpet, I pondered the latest exhibitions at the Seattle Art Museum, and slurped a bowl of Pho down dear Pioneer Square. It was serene to observe the city as it moved, to again breathe and be a part of it.
And there I stood on the pier, staring at that ship and thinking about Hawaii. I envisioned a lush and sunny coast. I wondered when the ship had come, when it would return, and how many times it had made the journey over the years. I stood and I felt at once rooted and rootless, both grounded and far-flung. I floated in a cloud of my thoughts, surrounded by the ocean and the rain, content both to just be there and to know that in the morning I would depart.