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Just play: don't look at your hands! |
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() First, YEA for BILL, he made it! He stayed awake, although it was really hard during the fourth session when he almost nodded off. By the fifth he had rallied. Nevertheless, I drove home, just in case. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Was just reading "L'aura del Campo" ![]() ![]() The winds rush by my house, push at the boards and pound, then swirl past. Small limbs hit the wall with a crack. Leaves fill chinks in the log pile. The fence gate shakes, and the latch clanks, then a lull in the gusts. Just the swish of breeze leaks through the pines, then more and more and a roar on the same path—I chill and thrill to hear the sounds. No birds sing though. They crouch by the bush and wait for me to bring more seed to fill their tubes. They are safe there, for now. The cat stays on the porch and waits. He hates the cold more than he is lured by sight of his prey. He knows his time will come. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() What color is abject terror? That's the color Lauren's blog about the hike up to Angels' Landing ought to be. She has pictures you can't afford to miss. You'll never get another chance, most likely, to see such scary sights of the heights in front and behind her. Wow! "Invalid Entry" ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |