The Room With the View

Our bedroom is small. Just enough room for our bed and a dresser. We're trying our best to turn it into a sanctuary, but it's coming along much slower than we hoped. Yellow is the theme. We have a glorious white quilt with golden embroidery and a duvet underneath that with yellow, bursting flowers. An antique dresser with a butter finish sits opposite the bed and sunburst mirrors hover an illuminate the room. It could be perfect. But there are these bold, red curtains that are determined to mock me in my attempt to redecorate. They know that the sun rises far too early in Washington (3am during the summer) and until we can afford new ones, they will have to stay. I hate them. There is another window in the room, however, that has remained uncovered. We plan to fix this in the future. The sun shines through in the early mornings but I don't mind. The 6am glow reminds me to sit up and admire the sun as it creeps over the mountains in a shade of pink. But the real view happens after the sun sets.

There is an old oil refinery that sits in the bay off Anacortes. Typical in it's structure, tall towers that emit large billowing clouds of steam and rusty patches of steel spread over its entire surface. Nothing much to notice during the day. I have passed it by on many occasions, noting that it looks like something more out of a science fiction novel than anything else... It's out of place in any light to say the least. Mostly because it's harsh outline and obtrusive colors that fail to blend with the green backdrop of the Northwest. But as soon as the sun sinks into the ocean and the sky turns black, a thousand tiny lights come alive and cover every inch of the dingy refinery transforming it into a magical and distant castle. It seems to float on the water as the lights reflect off the bay and glisten in the moonlight. Or maybe it looks like a city made of gold? Or maybe it's how Atlantis would look if it were set ablaze or if a hundred thousand twinkling fireflies perched on it's smoke columns. Whatever its secret, it brings a sense of mystery and wonder to our cramped bedroom. I like to turn off all the lights and admire it's beauty, knowing full well that the rising sun will turn it back into a dingy, industrious monster. I suppose that's what makes it so amazing in the first place. It's doomed to turn back into a pumpkin.

From our bedroom window, the faint glow of Oz itself shines meekly on our faces as we sleep transmitting good vibes and better dreams. There really is no better view in Anacortes than from our bedroom window.