Suspended in Time: A Moment in Motion
There’s something about quiet mornings that makes you feel like the world has paused, waiting for something to unfold.
On this particular morning, while strolling through downtown Tacoma, near the Museum of Glass, my gaze was drawn to a distant figure—a window washer, hanging high above the city.
It was just the two of us, alone in this morning hour, as if the rest of the world had yet to wake.
Even from five stories up and 100 yards away, I could sense the precision in his movements. Each sweep of his squeegee, each shift of his weight, was calm and practiced. There he was, exposed and elevated above it all, yet somehow detached from the world below.
And here I was, quietly observing, the only witness to his rhythm.
Instinctively, I raised my camera. I could feel there was something here. As I crouched to find the right angle, I was delighted by what I saw—the curve of the Tacoma Dome's roof in the distance drawing my eye right to the window washer, as if the scene had been carefully composed just for this moment.
The apartment building, with its overlapping rectangles of windows and modern facade, added a texture that felt both solid and rising.
To the left, in the background, tension wires of the East 21st Street Bridge jutted into the scene, subtly mirroring the railings on the steps of the Museum of Glass in my foreground.
This symphony of angled lines was echoed to the right, by the curved, criss-crossing lines of the museum’s iconic Cone.
All these layers of lines, textures, and shapes came together, around the frame creating a singular tunnel of focus—a direct, unobstructed view of the man high above.
The scene was perfect, almost. But in my mind, I wished for something more—a figure, a fleeting movement in the foreground to complete the composition.
And then, as if my thoughts had somehow summoned her, a woman stepped into the frame, descending the stairs a few feet in front of me. It was no more than 30 seconds after I’d wished for her, and there she was, like an actor arriving right on cue.
I managed to capture two images before she vanished, just as quickly as she had appeared.
When I reviewed the photos, I couldn’t help but marvel at how her legs—one paralleling the contour of The Cone, the other leading the eye directly to the window washer—added dynamic angles to the scene.
The textures of her clothing, with their rich patterns, only deepened the controlled chaos of the moment.
But the true magic? It came in the delicate tension of her outstretched foot, just about to touch the ground, perfectly aligned with the man suspended high above.
I couldn’t have orchestrated the moment better if I had imagined it. Sometimes, life hands you a scene so perfect, all you can do is stand in awe—and press the shutter.