||Woke up in Connie and Bruce's guest garret. We're staying with
them until New Year's because we sublet our apartment. Downstairs, pouring
coffee, Connie says she dreamt she woke up and it was sunny. A look out the
window seemed to say otherwise--battleship grey skies. It gets light here
so late in winter and their house is in the shadow of a ridge, so you can't
always tell.... A look a little later revealed a thin line of cloud like
an ocean breaker, highlighted orange by an as-yet unseen sun, but other than
that, clear skies for the first time in two months (it's been an exceptionally
dreary autumn in Seattle, the kind that makes the city's reputation as a
citadel of rain).
Connie's dad died not long ago and I wonder if this period of mourning brings
out our psychic abilities.
I caught a ride with Bruce to Fremont, the scenic route along the lake, walkers
out enjoying the paths. "It's good to be back," I kept saying, "It's good
to be back."