I loved Seattle this summer. There’s something about these cities of mountains and sea — in clear weather in summer, they become jewel-like, faceted and glimmering.
But I find, more and more, that winter is what I associate with Seattle, in that part of the hindbrain where scent memories live. When I was young, we generally went to the Midwest in summer and to Seattle in fall or winter, to escape Alaska’s snow and dark.
Winter Seattle is more of a watercolor than an HD scene. I don’t know what it is about the green leaves under gray skies against muted gray walls that’s so heart-touching. The moisture in the air feels fresh in your lungs, and the fog that wraps the city like a blanket from dusk to dawn encourages thoughts of fireplaces and quilts.
And throughout, things grow. Bushes and trees keep their leaves and grass stays green, though everything seems to demur close attention in the gray chill. This is the off-season; come see us in summer. But any green at all is a miracle to an autumn child from the snow.