The Viewpoint

As beautiful as it is, the Viewpoint has a certain compositional awkwardness. That's one reason I keep going back to it. I always want to correct it in my mind's eye. I want it to be visually harmonious.

On a warm day like this, the distant space has a little haze in it, and that makes it sort of reverberate. I trace with my eye from Webster Point, in Laurelhurst, around the edge of Union Bay, towards Husky Stadium. I've always been intrigued by the alternation of green and straw-colored tones in this area. One color embraces the next in a series of semicircles, and then this is punctuated by the rounded, dark green forms of trees and bushes.

As I move my gaze backwards, towards myself, I see one layer of green followed by the next--each one a different shade. Today, white morning glories are in bloom on the hillside just underneath the Viewpoint. This is one of the surest signs of summer. And tangled vines and maple tree branches are intertwined. The white stucco house across the street, standing at an interesting angle to the park, reflects the bright sunlight. I like the contrast between the white walls and the red tile roof, complemented by the brown and beige striped awnings. A droll shrub in the front yard has intrigued me for years. I think it's a weeping spruce, if there is such a thing.

A man is asleep under the big old laurel tree. Well, it's a bush that's become a tree. His bike is leaned against the wood enclosure (or would you call it an "encasement"?) that surrounds the laurel, and he looks terribly tired. Blackberry bushes and sword ferns crowd together at the edge of the hillside. I've always loved the fluted curve of the edge and the abruptness of the drop-off.

The big old maple I call the "Sentinel" is already laden with seeds. A lone lupine plant survives on the street side of the slope. There were two or three others, if I remember right, but I think they've been lost to heat or cold, or crushed in mowing.