Reflection Of Perfection

About Reflection Of Perfection

Down along Front Street, where Issaquah's old timber-town storefronts still stand brick by brick, a hard freeze turns the sidewalks into something like a dark mirror, holding the shop lights and the shapes of bare maples long after the stores have closed. Reflection Of Perfection works the downtown blocks and the residential streets behind them after dark, once a freeze has taken hold and the ice hasn't yet been walked over and broken up. Issaquah Creek runs cold and close to town, and the mist it throws off on a still December night is often the first sign that pavement is about to turn treacherous. The crew moves block by block, breaking that glassy surface into something safe to walk on before the morning commuters reach for their keys. It's quiet work, done mostly by streetlight, in a town where a hard freeze is rare enough that everyone still slows down to notice it.