by Dennis Augustine
There we were—Cecile and I—‘sittin’ on the top of the Bay,” just like Otis sang, legs dangling over the courtesy orange deck chairs on this peaceful pier in Seattle harbor.
We watched the cruise ships roll in, majestic and proud… and then roll out again… Their horns echoing across the water like a call to adventure. Around us, travelers arrived, posed for selfies, leaned over the railing to feel the salt-kissed air.
Above it all, snow-capped Mt. Rainier stood like a silent guardian—serene, watchful, impossibly beautiful. The tide rolled in and out, as seagulls hovered and then landed on the rails like seasoned performers waiting for their cue—then lifting off again. A helicopter buzzed past, a jet climbed skyward toward the horizon. It was all one grand symphony of motion, sound, and stillness.
These past few days, I find myself wanting to hold on to more of these moments… to write them down, tuck them away before heading home. To record the memory of it all—the quiet joy, the shared glances, the rhythm of the sea. Because sometimes, you don’t need to go anywhere to feel you’ve arrived.