Out of necessity, I must listen to the sounds of car horns, airplanes, and dogs barking, and have done so for well over a decade.
The hardest thing I have ever done is to walk away from the farm and ranch, knowing it would not flourish under my hand. I still think of myself as a cowgirl, but I find myself without a cow.
Perhaps that's why I write: to take myself away from the scent of refineries and pavement and back to, as Tolkien puts it, "good clean earth." But dreams only last as long as sleep, and one cannot sleep forever.
As I step forward in my life, I often wonder if my footsteps will ever be able to turn toward the Badlands, and I pray that God sees a path that I cannot.
But for now, trapped near pavement I must be, but I long to see scoria roads and cow paths. Some day.