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The clouds reach their hands down and cover the mountain peaks. They call the Moon to reflect the Sun's light; the fog glows a golden orange across the slopes. In a dreamstate, we are driving through Castle Rock, the star brightly shining atop the granite anomaly. He lights his pipe, his hands swipe the match against the book like a maestro conducting a symphony, and exhales the aroma of Philosopher's Blend into the thin Colorado air. Many miles now separate us, from the Rockies of Colorado to the badlands of new Mexico; but his smoke rings still linger in the air, among the clouds, that shroud the mountaintops.
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Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
Castle Rock (The Philosopher's Blend)
The clouds reach their hands down and cover the mountain peaks. They call the Moon to reflect the Sun's light; the fog glows a golden orange across the slopes. In a dreamstate, we are driving through Castle Rock, the star brightly shining atop the granite anomaly. He lights his pipe, his hands swipe the match against the book like a maestro conducting a symphony, and exhales the aroma of Philosopher's Blend into the thin Colorado air. Many miles now separate us, from the Rockies of Colorado to the badlands of new Mexico; but his smoke rings still linger in the air, among the clouds, that shroud the mountaintops.
to my dear friend A.
Donald-nicholas
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Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
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