Beneath the Veil of Seattle’s Mist
Seattle awoke beneath a veil of mist, the kind that clung to the city like a second skin, softening edges and blurring the line between sky and earth. The morning air was cool, carrying with it the faint tang of saltwater from Elliott Bay and the earthy aroma of damp evergreens. The temperature hovered at a brisk 46°F (8°C), with a promise of climbing to a modest 54°F (12°C) by afternoon. The forecast had spoken of rain—because when did it not in Seattle?—but this was no torrential downpour. It was the gentle, persistent drizzle that the city wore like an old, familiar coat. The kind of rain that didn’t demand attention but simply existed, a quiet companion to the rhythm of daily life. In the predawn hours, the city was a ghostly silhouette, its skyline punctuated by the glowing needles of the Space Needle and the sleek contours of the Columbia Center. The streets of downtown were slick with rain, reflecting the amber glow of streetlights and the occasional flash of headlights as...