The mountain lions may leave a little bit of fur around the hooves after they have chewed off all of the meat. Thousands of tiny frogs chant their ancient chant in the wetland. Jackrabbits chase shadows under stark constellations.
I circle our land like a vulture searching for the last pulse of life. Surrounded by the crutch of beauty, there are no distractions from who I really am. The dozens of fragrant daffodils playing delirious sentinels in my meadow are exquisite. What am I doing here?

My heartbeat is too loud without the city to muffle its constant thrum. I miss sushi, and dancing in a crowd of strangers, and hearing my neighbors talk about their Multi Level Marketing plans through the drywall duplex walls.

Out here in the country, people still rush around the apex of their lives. Trucks drive through mountains and the parking lot is always full at the church on Sundays.
Going To Town is an event. The closest store is the general store. They sell poptarts and ammo. That is okay. Sometimes they have Guiness too.