The long, dusty road finally ends as I pull into the valley known as The Swell. Silence is all I hear when the engine dies.

A murder of crows flutter about as I set up camp, re-hydrate, eat a morsel or two. The sun is quickly setting.

I find myself the only soul in this valley of desert sand and red rock.

I could disappear, murdered outright, and no one would be the wiser.

Instead of terror setting in, I find that thought freeing. I set my mind on the act of pure survival as the last log of the fire burns it’s orange glow as the sun fades behind the mountain.

Stars come out to shine and dissipate worry. I reciprocate with my own beacon of light.

Perhaps in a far off universe, another soul sees my own beacon and finds comfort.

Coyotes howl and wake me in the middle of the night. The sage brush rustles from the nocturnal stirring of hidden creatures.

Let me survive to the break of a new dawn.

I wake to watch the rising of a new day. I feel like my ancestors of old, those that rose to each new day in awe, and lived as though it may be their last.

As we all should….bring on fresh blood. 

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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