Look out your back window or door — describe what you see, as if you were trying to convey the scene to someone from another country or planet.
From my balcony I can see a hundred variations of Craftsman rooftops crowding each other for space. When the old houses die, two or three skinnier homes go up where once stood a single dwelling. Jutting up here and there are evergreens and leafless seasonals holding their breath till spring.
The Sound is becalmed today, sitting like a black mirror in want of a reflection. But the Sounds mistress is too far away.
The Olympics rise high above the, a white ridged crown upon the Sounds brow. A beautiful reminder that no matter how big or magnificent the things of man, they always bend the knee to their mother.