Peep-eye

I'll probably never again have such a view from my bedroom window, so any evening I'm home when the sky begins to change colors, I'm pretty much on an invisible stretchy leash tied to our various house windows for the next hour. I love sunsets. For how they spill around and move. For how they go to meet the night with fury and surrender. And all this in vast silence. They are a slow heartbreak, drawing all kinds of things out of me...Wonder. Gratitude. Homesickness. Sorrow. Love.

When I look at a sunset, I'm gone, I'm no longer here. At the same time, sunsets are too slow for my fidgety nature, so I stare for a minute, then fidget and flit about, then run back and look, dart away, dart back, forget, remember, run to the upstairs window, get distracted, run back down to the living room window, then trip out onto the porch. I suppose it's my own kind of peek-a-boo, or "peep-eye" as we called it in my family. I love the feel of just laying eyes on it again.

So from me to you, here are a few little pieces I picked out of the West Seattle sky this evening, in chronological order. This is looking out over the Sound, facing Vashon and Bainbridge Islands, and the Olympic Mountains.