Connections

         There's a certain rhythm on the streets, where the footsteps of pedestrians set the beat and car horns, sirens shouts, and club music add tune, tone, and melody. Maybe it isn't a song, but a heartbeat that ticks in time with mine.
         Rain washes off the metropolis's ever-changing face. Neon signs and taillights melt away into Monet paintings on the wet sidewalks, and birds fly out of the falling water while the rumble of low-flying jets remains bodiless. Buildings of tinted glass and windows reflect the cool grey sky, skyscrapers stretch towards the heavens, threatening to prick the clouds with their radio-tower spires. As the rain-flecked wind picks up, I breathe in its fresh scent. This is the only city in the country with this clean, salty, cool air. It beckons you into this small but modern, gleaming place. I smile to myself.
          The rain stops, but the clouds stay. Roots of the trees planted in the sidewalk soak up their northwestern drink, and the cool wind blows my hair back, soothing my face and neck. I drink in its replenishing powers like the roots. The northwestern city maintains a serene tranquility, despite its buzzing with activity like a hive of bees. I pause and listen to the city's heartbeat, the pulsingof its wide gray blood vessels, its hardworking cells bustling about in cars, buses, and on the sidewalks and bikes.
          As I continue, traversing the city's capillaries, arteries and veins, I pass the people who call this place home as much as I want to call it home. Crisp people in crisp suits walk by with quick paces, discussing the stock market or business deals, wielding briefcases and Starbucks lattes. Some women walk past, dressed in top-of-the-line outfits, carrying shopping bags and arming themselves with plenty of makeup, heels, and the latest technological communication devices. One of them may hit my shoulder along their way, but I will shrug it off. Everyone has their own life to live, no matter how fast or slow. A scraggly, skinny, long-haired man waits at the corner in ragged clothes and a cardboard sign reading "Homeless- Anything Helps". Those people in crisp suits and top-of-the-line outfits hurry past him without a second glance. They don't choose to help him. What if they did? How would this man's life be different? I walk on.
         The rain chooses to be difficult. Now the rain hits the streets harder, and multicolored, octagonal flowers bloom above the heads of certain smart individuals. Others shelter beneath awnings or don hoods. Windshield wipers are furious blurs, and the streetsgrow shiny and reflective once again. The weather is like the ever-changing human mood - like mine, jovial and sunny one day yet sullen and cloudy the next. What if this beautiful city were human? What would she be like? What things would she choose to believe and learn? Would she live up to this city's name and reputation? I think as I continue my journey.
         Here, old meets new - classic brick buildings are stacked between imposing glass and concrete towers. Bright marble facades greet angular archways, and solid stone clashes with pliable metal. The city opens up to new ideas, but still supports the old. If everyone thought like this, how would society believe? How would the world be changed? And why was I asking myself so many questions? Would the answers reach beyond the city? If the city was so much like me, would I find the answers within myself? I can only guess.
         To many, this city is just a place to live and work; a simple cluster of roadways and tall buildings. But to others it holds mystery, intrigue, answers and, to me, questions. It offers opportunity and a community that you can fit into, there are so many. It holds the secrets of success, power, and teaches one how to live in the fast lane. It is a living organism, a network of connections and cultures intertwined with life - living, breathing life that keeps this city's magical heart beating.
         Going to Seattle will never get old.