Tulip Fields, Roozengaarde
Heading north from Seattle, you pass through rolling emerald hill.
To the right, you see a trail of white capped mountains like ice cream cones that have fallen. Vanilla exploding out the top and running down the rugged exterior.
The the left, the Sound.
The wild pacific, where life is abundant and mysticism is an understatement.
An hour from the Canadian border you reach Mt. Vernon.
A quaint town where the tulip could be their symbol.
Cross low bridges over babbling creeks to a valley surrounded by raised earth kissing the sunken sky.
Before you know it, you start to smell them.
The tulips, that is.
