Spring Wal

I’ve walked to a hill mile from the house. It’s not really a hill but a mountain slope that heaves up, turns sideways, and comes down again, straight down to a foot-wide creak. Every-thing I can see from here used to be a flatland covered with shallow water.outdoor house inflatable .°Used to be.±means several hundred millions years ago, and the land itself was not really .°here.±at all, but part of a continent floating near Bermuda.
　　On the top is fin of rock, a marine deposition created during Jurassic times by small waves moving in and out slapping the shore. I’ve come here for peace and quiet and to see what’s going on in this secluded valley, away from ranch work and sorting corrals, but what I get is a slap on the ass by a prehistoric wave, gains and losses in altitude and aridity, outcrops of mud composed of rotting volcanic ash that fell continuously for ten thousand years a hundred million years ago. The soils are a geologic flag – red, white, green, and gray. On one side of the hill, mountain mahogany gives off a scent like orange blossoms; on the other, colonies of sagebrush root wide in ground the color of Spanish roof tiles. And it still looks like the ocean to me. .°How much truth can a man stand, sitting by the ocean, all that perpetual motion,.±Mose Allison, the jazz singer, sings. The wind picks up and blusters. Its fat underbelly scrapes the uneven ground, twisting like taffy toward me, slips up over the mountain, and showers out across the Great Plains.