It's soggy, and has been for a while, and will be for a while more. Not California soggy, which seems strange to say; they have their own troubles. Here in the PNW we have the slow slog kind of soggy, weeks and months of it, seemingly endless. I might be getting used to it, or maybe just resigned. I guess it's what I signed up for when I moved.
I recently joined the flocks of Fitbit aficionados, in hopes of discovering a better me. The learning curve has been steep with its many screens and buttons and parameters and graphs and comparisons. I've been talking to it, this slender bit of plastic, asking about my sleep and movements and habits, muttering to it when it annoys me, and staring at it as I would a new lover, waiting for intimations of love or approval. It hasn't been as forthcoming as I'd hoped.
I spent an afternoon purposefully looking down, taking in the things I take for granted in my neighborhood as I reel repeatedly, round and round. I suddenly noticed art on the ground, lines and patterns, color and texture, life at a different level. It's something new anyway, a novelty in my shrinking world.
Walk Look See Write
This week I'm looking to see or hear what the trees are trying to tell me, They are stark and dramatic now, and their personalities revealed without the extravagance of leaves. The trees' rain-darkened bones stand out clearly, accentuated against the skies' lighter backdrop.