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A T In The Road

And in the late spring and early summer, through the warmth of the day, scattered clouds coalesce. At times building high, tens of thousands of feet, and reaching far up into the sky. Driven by the heat of the sun and humidity they appear to be a thing alive. High and billowing whiteness, growing upward and outward. But always a portentous darkness grows with the upward billows.

And how wild a thing of beauty can become.

East or west, the road beckons. And if you go forward to the right it is onward to the Black Hills, and forward to the left to the Big Horn Mountains.

Music: “Crested Hens,” Old Celtic folk tune. Played on a Martin OO-18C near the waters of the Powder River in Wyoming. Amplitube.

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