Look at us now. Battered by
squalls we stand rigid in our valley.
Clouds tumble black over tourmaline above us. The highest mountains have crawled away from
around us, surely they have, and rain drives hard into this summer’s ginger
grasses. The once open and rolling
expanse now obscured by curtains of rain. But the reward, the reward for this sparsely
peopled land, once the storm recedes, will be the prancing green of freshened
sage, the newest bird chanting, and pine and stone mountains gathering us up
once again.
—Mitchell Hegman
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