Immortal Snohomish creates and consumes of a place beyond place. Existence is life and death and we are one with the river who gives and takes. She licks at newborn calves, their mothers soon for slaughter. She teases along her path of life, hording glacial secrets in seasons. She breathes passion through dens of play and slows her gait in wonder at the mill, where blood and sap converge our living death. Mourning whistles from mill and rail cannot be silenced.
In this valley, moon and sun hold morning court over swans unsheltered in fields of decay. Along the river, we know that to live, there must be death. We live among the dead and celebrate together. The spirits are many and we offer respect for lives known only through wisps of fading grays, snapshots in clinking glass and tarnished silver noise.
Neither haunted, nor possessed, but endowed with intelligences of ages, our buildings sweat soul and invite creation from untethered minds. To be here, you simply have to be. Once you are, you will find meaning.