Golden fields will spread beneath a blue dome of a western sky. Live oaks will shadow the rolling hillsides. And someplace, flowing from years long past, a river will wind toward the sea.
This is marvelously evocative, it warms the heart of a word-artist.
38 posted on 06/11/2004 9:39:19 PM PDT by Old Professer
(lust; pure, visceral groin-grinding, sweat-popping, heart-pounding staccato bursts of shooting stars)