Inspired by--

​www.ptleader.com/arts/palouse-to-the-peninsula-open-for-art-walk/article_3c2c61c4-1cc0-11e8-a081-b333b771c155.html​​Suzanne Lamon's Bee Moon

​She walked out of the gallery into the cool indigo of twilight. The full moon had risen, and now cast its wake across the waters of the strait. Under its gaze, in the east, soft clouds rested on the peaks of the Cascades. As she walked up the fountain steps she turned midway up the bluff to glance down at the Victorian buildings below, sedate in their longevity. The breeze lifted up the face of the bluff, its passage through rhododendrons and undergrowth, audible as rustling taffeta would have been in the ballroom of the Palace Hotel one hundred and fifty years ago. Beyond the western horizon of her street the Olympics were reaching hard for the last of evening’s light. She felt as though the whole of the world was reaching--as long, tremulous branches of the deodar cedars reached in the wind, as sailboats driven into the strait were on a reach—reaching. What was she reaching for? 

Excerpt from a new story, coming soon.