Spencer Hoyt
When it rains, it drizzles a handful of minutes. The clouds move inland and pull the hiding sun out, into a break in the evaporation. Puget Sound’s wake swirls rhythmically and catches rays of light, compressing them into miniature white bulbs, shaking like a lagoon of broken glass. More clouds soon smother the newfound illumination and leak plump drops from the ocean into the dulled body of estuarine water. The collection of reflectors expands for the restrained sun’s continuous cycle of liberation.
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