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May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into
and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples
and castles and poets' towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and
mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and
down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the
white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more
beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you -- beyond that next turning of the canyon walls.
Edward Abbey |