1. When the rain stopped, the Seattle skyline appeared across the water.
2. In Seattle, I'm like one of those tourists you see in Times Square, mouth agape, except here I'm gawking at the magnificent weeping conifers that can be found on every street corner.
3. Bikes were strewn everywhere, like litter, an ongoing casualty of our failure to regulate cars and the inordinate amount of public space they occupy.
4. A friend unlocked one for me and I took a spin. Going up a steep hill with just a few pedals, I fantasized about having fleets of such bikes (and scooters) in New York City, and safe (car-free) paths and roads on which to ride them.
5. The next morning I went out for an early run. Or was it still night? It was 6:30, but the moon was out and I couldn't see anything.
6. I was in outer space until the mist turned silver and I found the contours of a path marked by a sign that said: 'Welcome to the Pinetum.'
7. I arrived at a moss-covered bridge that apparently had been constructed from my dreams, or maybe -- because it seemed so much older than me -- the (gay) dreams of one of my (gay) ancestors.
8. I followed the light to a path.
9. What were these plants? They looked like heather, but were much bigger than any I had seen.
10. I felt a little guilty as I remembered the Heather Garden in Fort Tryon Park, which in my memories had become small. How would I ever be able to go back?
11. I also felt jealous seeing these twisting, moss-covered trunks.
12. But mostly I didn't think about anything except where I was, and how good it felt to be alone, running through the trees.
13. I found a new section of the forest where the ground was covered by ferns.
14. And acres of moss.
15. After many miles and too few minutes, it was time to go. I felt sorry as I crossed the bridge back to the real world.
16. Where the sun was just beginning to rise.
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