Better Than A Dozen Roses
We’d hiked up the foothill slope, between the gap in the rock rim, and down the back sway into the grassy bottom of the small valley that hugged the mountainside. It was evening. It was summer.
We’d hiked up the foothill slope, between the gap in the rock rim, and down the back sway into the grassy bottom of the small valley that hugged the mountainside. It was evening. It was summer.