Only On Vashon

I'm sitting here. Yes...sitting again. I decided that was the best use of my time. Bowm bowm bowm...lipstick tourniquet again. I love local music. Then again, I love everything that is local. I love the rain; yes Seattle is Seattle is Seattle. I love Vashon and its large amount of hippy vibes, like the seventies gone modern. I love the beaches, always wet, and never warm reminiscent of light blue. I love the 100-year-old madronas that fall and lean resembling tired arms over the sand and waves. I love the smell of fallen leaves in the ravine, like thanksgiving turkey on a sandwich. I mean each and every piece of my home, my town; my place is handsome and motivating.
Where else would I be able to just sit at home by myself, make a cup of tea, and glance out at the drizzle falling while wrapped in fleece? Where else would I be able to explore seemingly ravenous gulleys overflowing with woodland treasure? I mean the things that I've come to realize and the things that I have stumbled upon inadvertently, are more remarkable and gorgeous than anything I have ever seen before.
Only on Vashon.