JulieLeung.com: a life told in tidepools

pictures and stories from the water’s edge

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December 22nd, 2003 · No Comments

Due to a doctor appointment this morning in Seattle, the girls and I got up early to catch the 7:55, leaving the house at 7 to be sure we’d make it. Breakfast would be on the boat, but Abigail and Elisabeth got their antibiotics doses, a dropper of white for one, and pink for the other.

As they dressed, Abigail and Michaela begin arguing, debating when bats go to bed. Seeing the sky dark, they thought it was still night time, time for bats to be about. I had to tell them it was morning.

Waiting in line at the terminal, sitting in the van, we see the sun rise. Reds and oranges above the hills east of Seattle. City lights appear like tinted rhinestones along the edge of the water. Fog pulls away from the island and out into the Sound.

In front of me in line is a big blue and white Ford E350 truck with the license plate holder: “When I’m good I’m good. When I’m bad I’m better”.

There’s plenty of blinking lights, red and orange ones on the dock, almost like a Christmas display. Engines are running, commuters trying to keep warm in their cars. I step outside to try to take a picture. It’s too dark. Lots of crunching beneath my feet: I can’t tell if it is frost or dirt.

The ferry comes in like a ghost. The white and green boat has the same tone as the hills behind it and the sea beneath it. Only its lights give it away.

The sunrise spreads, progressing into pinks. Then the pink moves upwards, caught in the clouds that look like eyebrows above the land. Behind the hills is now yellow, gold and blue.

In the van, the girls are in good spirits. They are reading books and feeding each other pretend lemon juice. Elisabeth squeaking from her seat. I am grateful.

As the ferry unloads, the motorcycles and bicycles arrive, speeding into the lane on my right. They will get to board the ferry first.

Then I see shadows of pedestrians in the elevated walkway in front of me, anonymous figures, waiting to board the ferry. It is as if they are walking in fog, behind translucent windows, through filters of gray and brown. I see backpacks and coffee cups, bent backs and newspapers. Passengers.

Tags: island