Day 23

I used to live in a house on Phinney Ridge that rested high above Ballard and Puget Sound, staring the Olympics in the face. Rare mornings, I would lift my head three inches above the pillow and watch the mountains shift from purple to gold as the eastern sun illuminated the serrated peaks. Then, if fortunate enough, I would drop back into a deep slumber. Summer nights, I would watch the sun settle behind the peninsula from the balcony, scattering orange and blue into the night sky. Shortly after, I would lay down, head raised for as long as I could, watching the sky turn black, then drift off into the star-speckled heavens.