Tacoma’s a town of juxtaposition and originality displayed in strange and unexpected places.
On an extraordinarily rare day of sun, camera and I go for a stroll.
The original industrial quarters is a favorite. I do so love to weave amongst the weatherbeaten aged buildings, some in disuse, others operational, peering into the past, imagining the tales, listening to their faded song and drunk on the rich textures, lines, shapes and angles.
I arrive here:
Answering Mother Nature’s call, I venture into the tall weeds veiling the rusted railroad.
Something catches the corner of my peripheral vision; it’s almost as if I’m being watched.
So I step in closer:
Closer still. Something high up in the window. I stare. It's not moving:
I steady the camera lens to my eye and zoom in:
That’s Tacoma!
Curious about the building, I curve around the side:
to the front:
Today I'm lucky – the building reveals whooo she is without struggle:
The mystery of the mechanical owl has been solved, with Expat reminding that it deters pigeons.
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