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  • I grew up in The Valley.

    Surrounded by rolling mountains, that could never seem to be content with their color. Every few months they would exchange green for orange, orange for browns and grays, followed by a coat of white. But they always make it back to green.

    There's a river there, it doesn't care much for the social conventions of the other rivers. It flows north. We would spend our summers on it, in it. Escaping the heat, and whatever responsibilities a teenager could have.

    I left when I was 18. And almost a decade later when I return the mountains still haven't settled on a color to keep. And our mad little river continues its march north.
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