Shortcuts

When I was a little girl, in kindergarten and first grade,
I lived only three blocks from school.

But -- much to my mother's dismay, I'm sure-- it often took me
an hour or more to walk home.

That's because I took little meanders I called "shortcuts."
Off I'd go, looking for new things to examine.

Even though I'm a big girl now,
I still love to meander,
especially when my camera leads me astray.

That happened Saturday evening, after I left the family gathering.
I pointed my car toward home and then. . . . deviated.
Here's some of what I saw while I was taking my "shortcut."


Evidence someone is building a city of gold.

The lid to the Space Needle with little teensy people inside.

Roses gone wild.

Telephone poles asserting their importance in a wireless age.

Cool reflections against the top of my car,
a car that smelled like pineapple, strawberries, and mango
because I was taking leftovers home with me.

Mother Nature painting the sky with pastel watercolors,
and getting some on the skin of skyscrapers by accident.

A train whizzing by, its rumble and clanking paired
with the clanging of bells warning you to stand back.
Lights flashing.
Danger!

People out walking on the path along the shore
of Elliott Bay after sundown,
when the breezes were just starting to be a bit chilly.

The royal blue blanket of night
settling down around a Seattle not yet ready for sleep.


A three-hour shortcut.
It was a good thing.