The challenges of the past two years have changed the way we live, the way we work, and the way we show up for each other. They have also given us a rare chance to collectively reimagine our future. Through the Reimagine Seattle Storytelling Project we invite community members to reflect on their current experiences in Seattle, how they have been impacted by recent events, and their hopes for the future of our city.
prayer as a walk through Ravenna in the Winter
by Brian Dang
| this city is notorious for the dark | ||
| it’s true | ||
| winter is a funeral for color | ||
| we’ve all seen the chart: the grey. | ||
| the seattle freeze, a historical coldness, even, | ||
| hard to make friends, or something. nobody knows how to define it. | ||
| what’s that about? | ||
| is it true? | ||
| you quickly become metamours with solitude | ||
| you arrive at affection for it, unprepared | ||
| when my edges came loose | ||
| and I began to collapse, inwards | ||
| I moved in nearby after living in the outskirts | ||
| I was grieving | ||
| if I’m being honest, I was — | ||
| Ravenna Park taught me how to live. | ||
| there are three paths: | ||
| the north trail | the service road | the south trail |
| each path has its own magic | ||
| you can lay your fingers on the overhead bridge’s steel beams (there are two) | ||
| plan to cross them later, the many bridges | ||
| knock on a fell maple’s door, a root system of messy hair and a home (there are two) | ||
| swim at the playground, in children’s laughter, the barking of dogs, thwacking of rackets, dribbles of basketballs, zooming of ziplines (there are two) | ||
| the basketball gets stuck in the old hoop, but it’s endearing | ||
| sit on a bench where the creek sprints loudest (there are two) | ||
| a friend shares poetry with me at these benches, tells me she’s thinking of me | ||
| run your hand through sword ferns like hair you’re braiding (there are so many) | ||
| step mindfully across the narrow bridge to the erratic (there is only one, depending on who you ask) | ||
| I come to this rock when I need to see the wind’s arms take up the fir tree’s arms | ||
| when I need to trust water | ||
| when I need to trust quiet | ||
| I’ve been beat over the head twice in the last year, | ||
| it’s mostly a confusing affair, when walking in your city | ||
| your glasses falling to the sidewalk for the first time | ||
| the second, your hat | ||
| never the city, never the cops, but my friends, the people, they were there when I reached — | ||
| you think brightly of the stranger who pulled their car over in the busy intersection, jumping out, asking: | ||
| “are you okay?” | ||
| I come to Ravenna. | ||
| I remember, I reach out | ||
| when I need it most. | ||
| and Winter, | ||
| is a time of need. | ||
| Ravenna teaches me how to live. | ||
| it’s true: this city is notorious for the dark | ||
| but it’s brightest, in the Winter, this creek | ||
| the firs, the maples, the pines, the cedars, the hemlocks | ||
| making way is not barren, | ||
| you wouldn’t say that spreading your fingers, | ||
| to press your hand | ||
| into an open hand, to be close | ||
| you wouldn’t call that a barren act | ||
| so don’t call them, | ||
| my leafless friends, | ||
| barren. | ||
| making way for sky, | ||
| these acts of grace only appear in Winter | ||
| and when it snows, oh when it snows, there is so much light to eat | ||
| but I get why we hate Winter. | ||
| the cold, the cold, the cold | ||
| what a cold two winters we’ve had | ||
| so cold, we close our doors | ||
| we’ve collapsed into ourselves | ||
| and our unhoused neighbors, who find a home in the welcoming trails of Ravenna, | ||
| are swept again, | ||
| this city loves to sing displacement | ||
| I once heard there are more cranes here than anywhere. | ||
| what now, of these visions that do not include us? | ||
| how do you ask a place that has hurt you, what do you need? without losing something | ||
| oh, but I can’t help but love the Winter, | ||
| the world becomes so tinted in blue | ||
| and it shows me I can live | ||
| you see the nature of nature in branches: fractals, | ||
| the tendrils, the limbs do not grieve the season, they reach so clearly | ||
| we are made to reach out | ||
| and reach out in return | ||
| ad infinitum | ||
| (again and again, in the same way forever) | ||
| the reaching is | ||
| operatic | symphonic | oceanic |
| might we | learn | to reach |
| through | the need | too? |
| reaching | through | the way |
| when it’s | cold, find | each other |
| when it’s | dark, find | each other |
| I’ll speak | without | negation |
| as best | as I’ve | learned |
| leave the | blinds | open |
| care into | the warmth | of a collective |
| reach | touch | offer |
| people | over | the city |
| love | the people | over |
| the city | love | the people |
| under | the city | love |
| the people | on | the city |
| we have | light | to give |
| way | to make | way |
| it’s not | so cold | hand |
| in hand | there’s | power |
| in the people | in the people | in the people |
| beside you | across from you | around you |
| in the people | in the people | in the people |
| in the people | in the people | in the people |
| when you leave the trail by making a slight turn, you are faced with the wholeness of a sky (this happens at both ends) |
