The cottonwood started falling and now it feels like we’re in a snow globe that won’t stop. Charlotte and I went to the aquarium and looked at the octopus, its sheep eyes, the valves where the cheeks would be, opening and closing in slow motion. I bought her a book about mermaids and we sat watching deaf tourists sign to one another, people taking selfies with scuba divers in the background waving. The deep-sea coral, the spotted lagoon jelly. It was only 10:30 and we were ready to go, both of us sleepy. We took the 99 south to Royal Brougham and I pointed out the building where I used to work, the Starbucks, the mermaid painted on the parking deck. And then we parked and walked to the bakery, and I said she could get whatever she wanted so she did, and we sat in the corner killing time, watching people with their newspapers. And then we drove to the Silver Platter record store and I asked the effeminate cashier if they had the new, nine-disc Brian Eno collection and he lit up, ‘why let me check…,’ and we talked and talked and talked while Charlotte used the bathroom, and it was $249 but I bought it anyway. Limited edition, collectible. Sixty-four page, color book. The cottonwood started, angled sideways; I redeemed my code for the digital download and sat with my laptop by the grill out back with Eno and the birds, a woodpecker, me swinging in the hammock, nodding off, knowing when I woke it would be time to catch a Lyft to the Roanoke, to meet Walt Walker.

Categories: music, musings, prose

Tags: ambient music, Brian Eno, Eno ambient, pacific northwest, prose, Seattle aquarium, short form, Walt Walker, William Pearse writer