The voice on my car radio said traffic was really bad this evening. I wondered what my commute would be like on a "bad" traffic day. Pfft. It was nothing. A little slow and go before the freeway opened up and climbed the rolling golden hills. Then I snaked through about fifteen minutes of country highway lined with redwoods, ponderosa and oak. I rolled down my window and inhaled the pine scented air. The road dropped out of the pines into a wide green valley, with fields of fat shiny horses. I turned up the lane to our house, pulled into the driveway, swung the gate open and parked in front of the driveway.
I love this house.
I love the oak trees along the driveway and in front of the house.
I love that the trees are hundreds of years old. I love the swing hanging from this granddaddy oak.
Roses are growing along the garden fence, at the back of the house by the kitchen window.
And deer have been dancing in the dressage court.
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