Pacific Northwest Gothic

astrangethingmystifying:

– An old fisherman once told you, “When you wander these woods, it’s like being lost in your own soul.”  Maybe that’s why you feel  dead eyes watching you from behind the trees.

– Visitors complain that the sun rarely unveils itself from the clouds and mist, and you laugh quietly.  The fools.  They do not understand that there are certain things not meant to be seen by the light of day.

– The morning fog slowly covers your campsite.  When it dissipates, your friend’s tent is missing.  How many came on this camping trip?  it was always one, wasn’t it?  …Wasn’t it?

– The mountain is out.  It is closer today.  Try not to wonder how many homes it had to swallow to get there.

– The crows gather on the trees and buildings.  You start counting, 1, 2, 3, 4, but there are too many to count.  They gather as one, they fly off as one.  That is why they will survive and you will not.  Their feathers block out the light.

– “Have you been to the Seattle Art Museum?” Someone asks.  You pretend not to have heard.  What a strange thing to hear from one of the exhibits.

– At the farmer’s markets, there is a reason we are drawn to vintage furniture, scarves, jewelry.  Things that hold so many memories always have space for a few more secrets.

– The ocean bores holes through the cliffs, crushes stones beneath its waves. It will erode you, too, given enough time.

– The streets of Seattle are built on the bones of a much older city.  And beneath that, a city older still.

– The sheds on the interstate are an admission that we cannot hold back the encroaching snow.  "Hazardous conditions for travelers", the signs say.  "Warning!  Collapsing snowfields".  When and if you emerge from the pass, will you still be the same person who went in?

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