Lonely as a cloud

This has been a typical winter, so far, in the Northwest Corner.  A winter with one or more street-clogging, school-closing, kids-rejoicing snowfalls is common, but not typical.  A winter with so little precipitation that we worry about taking baths in August is somewhat common, but not typical.  But 2018 has been typical -- some frost, some wind, a few clear days, but, for the most part, one rainy day after another.

This past week has been both windy and rainy, and the forecast for the next week is more of the same.  Today, however -- January 30 -- has been a tiny oasis.  Sunny, bright blue skies, moderate temperatures (meaning in the upper 40s, which is moderate by definition for January days in Seattle).

It's been the sort of day when I can walk my usual four miles with a smile on my face, observing at leisure people and the natural world about me -- rather than grimly leaning into the wind and rain. 

And I'm surprised.  It's still January, but Spring is already sneaking up on us.  Sneaking up on us at a date that should be -- at least by childhood memory -- still in the deepest bowels of Winter.  Green shoots poking up in everyone's yard.  New leaves coming out on hydrangea bushes.  Buds everywhere, each displaying an eagerness to burst into bloom at the slightest provocation.  Crocuses -- yes, violet crocuses, and some white -- not only blooming in gardens but even popping out through neighbors' front lawns.  And student oarsmen, members of the UW crew, sculling their swift shells through the Montlake cut.

And in my own "garden" -- which consists of whatever my predecessor planted some thirty years ago -- the first two or three primroses are already in full bloom. 

What a blissful sight this is for rain-drenched eyes and brain, as I wander about Montlake and the University campus.  I try not to think about the National Geographic article I read last night, an exposé pointing out the extent to which we -- all of us -- are under constant surveillance by everything from CCTV cameras to satellites in orbit.  Few places on earth, apparently, are beyond the all-seeing eye of governments and private industry.  Many of the cameras merely capture and file away our images for future reference, in case they should prove useful.  Others provide images that are being monitored continuously by human observers.

As I say, I try to forget these facts.  I wander about, naively thinking myself lonely as a cloud, as though a private world of nature, untainted by urban concerns, still existed.  I try not to envision the conversations in progress in some darkened room:

"Look, now he's leaning over and taking a photo of a primrose?  What the hell's he up to?  Is "primrose" a code a some sort?"

"Dunno, better keep an eye on him.  Maybe we should pick him up for questioning.  What's he saying now?"

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

 

"Nah, he's no spy. 'Bliss of solitude'? Just a weirdo. Report him to Social Services."