Jackson

When I'm falling asleep now, I imagine I'm on Jackson, one of my favorite streets in Port Townsend.

I make my way down the hill from my house at the foot of Artillery Hill in Fort Worden, stroll along the brow, listen to the surf surging below.

From there it's up one hill and then another. But at the top of that second hill, huffing and puffing, I see all of Admiralty Inlet spread out before me.

I snap photos. And in fact, I snapped plenty of them. But they never did it justice, never captured the openness and the light.

No matter — it's in my mind now, and in my bones and sinews, too.