they still run cattle in the canyons, at the lower elevations, before
grass and oak give way to digger pine and manzanita. there’s not too
much worry about predators, you’ll maybe see one mountain lion
during two decades in the foothills. they prey on the weak and the
sick, but one lion is no match for a herd.
ranchland is giving way to subdivisions, the days when
the big
ranchers
could drive their herds across the state and rest each
night on their
own land are gone, and not likely to return.
left with an echo of her own desires, hunger is not a strong enough
word
his distaste not alone, not enough, not anywhere any more
thunder
and then the rain begins
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