OLD COUNTRY FEELING
By Greg Evans
The heavy clouds hung low over the mountains. The air was warm and thick. A whitish mist hung over the valleys and the hot coffee seemed out of place as the sweat formed on the brow. The sound of chirping birds erupts from the still and stagnant air. Then a draft waifs through a break in the pines. On it the scent of a tomato patch nearby. Everything moves slower in the countryside. The way the language is spoke and the pace of the horses with their buggies. Breakfast is consumed slower as is the service. There is little rush in places that time has seemingly forgot.
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