Wow! Look at all the mountains down there. Is that snow? They're covered with snow?!
Which one is Mount Rainier? Can you see it from here?
There are so many trees. Evergreens! Everywhere looks like a forest!
Look at all that water. I think it's the Pacific Ocean. No, wait. There's more water. And more! And islands?!
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Flying home gives me a very special feeling.
I love to travel and I rarely get homesick, but I'll gladly confess that when the pilot announces that we are beginning our descent into Seattle, I feel my spirit soar. Pressing my forehead against the window - I always choose a window seat for just this moment - I drink in the unique beauty that makes the Puget Sound such a magnificent place to live. As we swoop low over the city, familiar landmarks fall into place and I marvel that this magical place is my home.
But even more, I love to listen to fellow passengers who are clearly not from here. This week, as I sailed in from the heartland city of Columbus, Ohio, I overheard the reactions of several travelers who have obviously never been up to our little corner of paradise before, and I delighted in their amazement.
And who wouldn't be amazed? After five hours' travel over Midwestern farmers' fields and half a continent of brown, just when it would be perfectly reasonable for a newcomer to think that the land had simply run out of beauty, everything changes. A considerable range of snow-covered mountains ripple out to the north and south; the green conifer forests of the western Cascades sparkle like gems below. Then come the lakes - long, lean Sammamish and Washington, tiny Union - and the shimmering Sound itself, dotted with islands and stretching wide to the Olympic Peninsula where more forests and more mountains unfold as far as the eye can see. Like stumbling upon an enormous secret garden, or an oasis in the middle of a desert, the effect is pure enchantment.
One afternoon a few years back, among a plane full of lucky people landing on a picture perfect summer afternoon, I heard a dad speaking in an awed whisper to his ten-ish year old son, "Look! Mount Rainier is out. That means we'll have good luck on our visit." And though I'd never heard such a claim before, I couldn't help but think he was right. To land in the presence of that massive yet delicately sculpted, snow-covered lady who so often hides her face in the clouds certainly must signal her gracious welcome.
While Rainier did not grace us with her presence this time, my fellow passengers and I enjoyed our dreamy descent into the Puget Sound, as sweet a spot on this planet as you will ever find.
^ Looking west at Lake Sammamish in the foreground, with a little peek of Lake Washington and Mercer Island between the clouds.
^ Looking back on Lake Washington toward the east, with a delicious view of the 520 floating bridge and at the bottom of the scene, Husky Stadium and part of the University of Washington campus.
^ The golden hour of the setting sun - which we had been enjoying for five hours since we left Columbus - brought a special glow to the final moments of our flight and sweet satisfaction to my entire trip.
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Read the story of my first trip since Covid to visit my daughter in Ohio, told from finish to start.
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