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by underswansea

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Lisa and I had breakfast in the bush this morning. It’s where the kids like to party in the spring and summer. Redneck hippy kids. Not much different then when we were growing up. It’s a maze of backroads. I could drive them with my eyes closed and have on occasion. We used to walk the dogs in the area. Plenty of gophers to occupy their noses. They would dig while we would walk and talk. It’s close to home. The land is covered in tracks, four-wheel drives, men and dogs, deer, cattle and snowmobiles. Each group wishes the others weren’t there. But it’s close to home so will do in a pinch. The one thing I know; the tourists don’t like it. There are plenty of signs telling them to stay the fuck out. Like broken fences and burnt and abandoned cars, lightning struck trees, road kill tossed over banks feasted on by ravens, magpies and eagles, and large fire rings with shotgun casings littered about. If you grew up on the benches or beside the creeks it’s familiar territory, if you didn’t, it’s unwelcoming. Later we stopped overlooking the river and counted elk. I scrambled down and caught sight of a Kingfisher. It ‘s blue colour revealing against the grey. I chased it around, but it toyed with me, never letting me get close. It fluttered above the river and dove to the surface several times. January is getting going. There is more snow in the forecast. It feels good to have the wood in.

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