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wind_river51

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I love the Pacific Northwest, if my body left, my soul never budged. I wanted it so bad when I was here, to be there. I missed my friends, the whole little world of it. The Olympics and Cascades framing my worl into an understandable domain, the straight of jaun de fuca leading outward to further vistas- further as a possibility. I would sit in my little hot apartment in Hawaii on a crowded busy fellaheen street and dream of the Olympic national park, the untouchable nature just everywhere, taking you in and the rain and fog and storm of the coasts, never a lonelier or more wild space. The wild western Olympic peninsula, nothing but fallen in old houses, sad and torn and gone, sad little weedy roadsides, and crossroads markets- lonely state aprks and rainy wet cold metal guardrails alongside a suicide bleak highway in the rain of November, or the heat and foxglove dusty sweetness of june. Theres anywhere you can go, all you need is a car or a friend with a car, theres the city up there, the other city down there , the ocean over there the mountains practially ontop of you on either side, looming and casting great shadows over the Puget sound.

 

Do you know what is between the east and west sides of the Olympic range? If you had ever seen it with your own eyes you would never doubt the wildness of Washington state.

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