Last night I biked over an inlet of Puget Sound and the fog was crossing the road adding myth and mystery to the airy warm night along the coastal town of Olympia. I could smell the ocean in the pacific breeze and hear the gulls on their late evening migration. We climbed a small hill up to the west side through a residential neighborhood on our way to a house party. The crowd there was full of youth and yet friendly and unintimidated. Hip hop and RnB played in the garage where a ton of kids danced in black light. I drank the blood of Mount Rainier in the form of beer in a can and wandered around. Surprisingly the Philly connection was ever present with either people knowing me or knowing friends of mine who had passed through here before. Conversation strayed back to solutions to the current world crises of a poisoned planet, and I smoked a joint legally thinking about something someone had told me about the winters here. The whole town becomes covered in moss. Houses, cars, fences, lawns, trees, and anything that stays remotely still turns that eternal green that I first saw in the northwest rainforest and very quickly becomes something of elvin fantasy or storybook trilogy. The whole story seems unreal but I believe.