(31, January 1998) The sky is stiller than any artist's painting the clouds a bright white, the color surreal the sun shining off the soft ripples in the water, I feared I would never see her again. Here we stand in the dead of winter on the shores of Kentucky's lakes in company with geeses, swans, and mallards, I roam amongst the bare birches, Shepard at my side, wind in my hair. We are a slow people, unprejudiced and open. A busy city who takes pride in Ali's boxing gloves. Our loyalties are in our horses, our children, our future. It's rolling hills and many rivers we seek not to change. How many times have I tossed a penny into the wishing well, so that I might never have to leave? The Indians who danced on our back yards, called tis their sacred ground, Can-tukee. We are set apart, all alone. It is not a land we moved on to dig uo and pollute. It is a land we conquered, a land we love, a land we worship.Birth sign: Not entered
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