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  • Parking the car at the giant oak tree on the valley ridge, I walk out to the barbed wire fence surrounding the upper fields of the Johnson farm.

    The warm stones next to the river where I sun bathed every summer reach up to my hands showing me the new house on the ridge, the yellow house now blue, a tree fallen.

    Resting in the late sun’s glow I close my eyes, breathing in the cotton fuzz floating on the breeze.

    Then I lay down, grabbing the ridge, I roll through the river and pull the entire valley over me so I can finally rest after the long journey.

    Words 109
    Time 20 min
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