“It was a clear, cold evening in early February, the end of a miraculously blue day blown in from the north like a celebration. People in the Northwest tended to greet such weather with a child’s sense of joy; strangers exchanged grins, houses were suddenly cleaner, and neighbors could be found in their yards in shirtsleeves, regardless of the temperature, indulging a sudden desire to dig in rich, dark dirt.”
I don’t think I’ve posted lines from fiction before on this page of rambles. But this paragraph in Bauermeister’s book, set in Seattle, says something that only someone who has lived in the Pacific Northwest understands.
The love of the sun is different up here. The sun is a mysterious traveling lover. One without a published itinerary or agenda for 8 months out of the year. Then for 4 the lover shows up to stay for weeks on end. But during the 8 dreary and gray months, when the sun shows up…all bets are off. Plans get cancelled in favor of sitting on balconies. Meals change from quiet dinners over a glass of wine to events served on patios. Thoughts of working late hours are exchanged for a walk in the park or a stroll near the water.
I am a lover of the sun. It is one of my very favorite things about New Mexico. Days on end of sunshine. But here…I am a worshiper of the creator of the sun. Because should the sun peak it’s face out for an afternoon…or even just a moment…the millions of us in this part of the world lift our faces in praise and adoration. We smile. We laugh. We are still