Living in the middle of nowhere may not sound fun to others, but to me I can’t imagine anything better. Summer time holds the most meaning to me, if you don’t count the loud scattered, gun fire and the most atrocious animal killing with metal death traps. I try to ignore that by listening to the sounds of the animal calls; such as the yellow finches chirping to one another, and the soft grazing deer that roam the upper hills. A bear’s shin-shivering, adrenaline pumping, and blood curdling growls; I would rather ship flat grey stones into the large, sapphire, clear lake any day. Pine and acorns are the first things that reach my nose, right after the nighty fires I set up for camping, feeling the warmth of red-orange fire to the colorless cold nights that make me rest at ease. Soon, picturing this in the frosty winter, Christmas comes to mind. Hunters are at home for the remainder of the year. Knowing that I am able to gaze upward to the sky seeing it pass from, baby blue skies, with shapeless clouds, to clear or brilliant starry nights. You might be lucky to see a falling star or two; make a wish my friends! I would rather have theses harlequin or emerald woodlands than the boastful, highly-lit, crime infested any second I could get.
