Today, I finished cleaning the apartment I moved out of over the weekend. I vacuumed, I swept, I dusted. I cleaned cobwebs out of forgotten corners and wiped dust off the baseboards and inefficiently placed baseboard heating units under the drafty windows. I scrubbed crud out of the shower and off the faux-wood floors in the kitchen.
And then I closed the door for the last time on the place I called home for a year, which is the longest I’ve lived anywhere in quite some time.
I guess I could wax poetic on how packing and cleaning and leaving that place is somehow a testament to life’s impermanence, but really all I want to do now is take a shower and sneeze out some of the dust bunnies I inhaled this morning.
I managed to squeeze in a hiking trip to the fire lookout atop Mt. Fremont, which is so close to Mt. Rainier that the mythical Mountain looks small somehow. The fire lookout there appears to still be staffed, so a peak inside showed cots and equipment and neatly arranged remnants of the spartan lifestyle of a fire lookout. In the morning the glaciers yawned blue ice and in the afternoon the sun’s glare made them glow.