split existence

Pictured here is the drink, as seen from the car deck of the boat I crossed it on yesterday, heading from the Seattle side to the forest side.

The drink is scary, even though this little piece of it that I cross every week is generally calm, peaceful, and not large in comparison with, say, the ocean.

Still, seen close up it seems immense, cold, relentless, and threatening. Every land animal naturally fears falling into the middle of the drink.

After a safe and uneventful passage, I arrived at chez Catboxette where I snapped thus photo of a flowering begonia, on the verge of living up to its name, and the gorgeous, once-trashed but now salvaged pot it sits in.

The spare composition of pottery and plant represents her aesthetic perfectly.

The weather was warm and sunny when I arrived here yesterday, but it's turned cool and rainy this morning. It's not raining in Seattle, but here's a picture from the KING-TV tower on Queen Anne Hill of the fog the city is wrapped in this morning, preventing outbound air traffic from departing Sea=Tac.

I had to hurry getting ready to leave yesterday, and arrived here without clean socks, or a belt, or a jacket. I'm getting tired of this geographically bifurcated existence. I really need to move over here, where the heart is.