The Sentinel

Years ago--I don't remember exactly when--I wrote some notes while at the Viewpoint. The page, which I later tore from my notebook, is dated "May 22nd," with no indication of the year. This is what I wrote:

Perhaps you know the scene I paint, the place I visit again and again. It's a favorite place--the most beautiful in our beautiful city. Here, at the Viewpoint, one one [sic] can stand on an icy January morning to watch the sun burst up, huge and orange, from behind the snowcapped Cascade Mountains; and here, on a balmy summer evening, one can sit on a blanket or lawn chair to celebrate the appearance of the large and glowing full moon.
While visitors to the Viewpoint never tire of watching this theater of celestial events, there's something less showy that brings people here as well. Its a curve--yes, a simple, humble curve. If you walk from one end of the Viewpoint to the other, you round a gentle bend. From the place where you end up, you can look back on the place where you started out; and chances are, you'll get to see another person come along the same course. Below is a tangle of trees and vines, and in the distance, Lake Washington and the mountains; but up on top, it's the curved edge of the lawn that makes the place what it is.
A few trees standing along the perimeter serve to accentuate the curve. Of these, one is larger than the others, and somehow the most impressive. I call it "the Sentinel," because it seems to guard--so silently, so

At the top of the page, there's a drawing of the curve, with the trunk of the "Sentinel" and the houses along the adjoining street. Somewhere I have more notes like this--a lot more--but I've misplaced them. I'll have to locate my Viewpoint archive, but I'm not sure that's where they ended up.