Three-and-a-half miles in, I meet the bend around Dexter that reveals the iconic Space Needle to my right. It is not there today. The hazy sky has gulped the orange saucer into a light gray silhouette. Seeing that odd structure on my runs reminds me that this new city is home now. Its absence today gives me the reverberating feeling that I have no clue where I am or what I am doing.
On day one in Seattle, my mom and aunt and I drove aimlessly around Queen Anne in search of any "For Rent" signs to avoid moving into what has now become my ex-apartment. While turning down whichever street felt good, we stumbled upon Kerry Park--home of the infamous Seattle skyline where the Space Needle stands at the front. I had no clue where I was, but the view was nice, so I didn't mind that I was slightly lost.
I moved to my new apartment this past weekend. I am now at the top of the hill and about a mile closer to downtown. While navigating these oddly arrayed residential streets to get to the grocery store, I once again stumbled upon Kerry Park. That similar haze of "Oh yeah, I live in Seattle; how did I get here?"and the certainty of "This is my home" blended within, and I remembered how clueless I was here on day one. I guess that's not really saying much because I'm still pretty clueless now but in different ways.
On my walk home from dinner with some people from MA-SSM (Lovely conversation with the waitress: "So you all go to SPU for grad school?" Yeah...), I decided to take a detour and revisit Kerry Park. When I arrived, the sun was low, and a strong orange glow warmed each building. It suddenly dawned on me that I live only a few blocks from such a fantastic scene, one that is reminiscent of Mt. Washington in Pittsburgh, a favorite spot to watch the city glow.
Then I remembered my roots--I'm a country girl. I love my fields and forest and running barefoot in the cool summer grass. I like doing cartwheels for no reasons and laughing at the sight of a summer's dusk. This love for the city scene is nice, but it can't fill me. On a clear day, the view might. Mount Rainier sneaks behind the city, often peering shyly from behind cloud curtains. It shocks me every time. Riding the bus down Queen Anne, driving 99 South, overlooking the city from Kerry Park--Mount Rainier holds this presence over Seattle, reminding us all that these blocks of towers are nothing compared to the snow-capped wonder that was here before us.
I continued to walk along Highland Street, where I met my other half--mountains. Back East, we don't have the big pointy ones, really. We have really big rocks and tree-coated hills, but now, the Olympics encompass my backdrop. They awed me the other day as I walked to the end of my road, and BAM! mountains. I feel like I am in another world. Power lines and parked cars aside, the mountains maintain the stronger presence.
So a few blocks down from Kerry Park, the city camouflaged behind houses and trees, and there was just me and the mountains. I then decided that Queen Anne is the place to be--I get the best of both worlds: city & mountain, civilization & solitude. Home.
I'm told that the haze stays over the winter months, insulating the city against winter's cold, but blocking out the comforting sun. At the corner of Mercer & Dexter, I meet my turnaround point, tag the construction sign that marks the beginning of my jog back, and I stare a few blocks away at where I could have sworn I last saw the Space Needle.
I jog back up Dexter and down to Nickerson, up Florentia, up Third Avenue West, and I meander through the back streets to get to my still-feels-new apartment. The concept of distance evades me on city streets--that I can walk to see this fantastic view, but the Space Needle looks so small, yet I can run nearly to its base in just a few miles--a big adjustment from the hills of Southwestern Pennsylvania, where I ran along long stretches of trees, and five miles felt far away.
Maybe it's just the West. I'm not really sure, but I like it.
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