Saturday, August 3, 2013

Rose Hill drive

We don't notice the washboard gravel road, the numerous cattle guards, or our ears popping as we slowly climb our way to the top of the hill, stopping numerous times for the deer to cross the road, the coyote to slink from one side to the other, and to breathe in the fresh country air and listen to the silence as cattle in the fields and on the road gaze our way and then go back to munching on the grass or enjoying a salt lick while the clouds bunch up on the horizon and we look down on the city that seems so far away.

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