A Friday in January

Two nights ago it was a roaming band of body pirates attacking feet, hands and shoulder. After just two doses of Prednisone most everything has settled down. Prednisone is the enforcer in the body. It comes in, guns a blazing. It knocks down all but the heartiest of opponents. It’s a miracle in that way. But it’s not a thing you want to hand too much control. You know, too much of a good thing is lousy for everyone. THIS especially. Damn.

In my car for the drive home, I have that twitchy feeling. My tank is full, the mountains shrouded by clouds and covered in snow and it’s as if I’m driving straight into them. There is a blue-grey tone to everything. I feel like I’m looking at the world through a filter. All I need now is to hear Andy Grammer belting out ” Good to Be Alive ” and I’m gone …

Instead I am subjected to Gloria Estefan singing ” It’s Too Late “.  Honestly.  Why ? I love that song and I really love Carole King. Some things should never be altered. It brings my daydream of escape to an abrupt end.

I take the long way home. I snake along the Parkway, cut over through Issaquah to May Valley Rd and take Issaquah-Hobart Rd to Hwy 18 for my last half hour. There is still traffic (of course) but it moves. And it moves through acres of green. I love this newly discovered route.

Tonight I chased the sunset. Before it set, as it was sinking down toward the horizon, it peeked through a cluster of clouds and flipped the switch on the sweetest light. I want to call it pink, but it was silkier than that. It was like spun cotton candy and it was a beautiful backdrop for the silhouette of leafless trees. Then the sun fell below the clouds and all but disappeared. Every night is different. Every moment, really. And then I fall in love all over again.

This time with my life.