We swung north toward Kentucky,
then east.
Instead of the flat desert the land rolled.
We entered hill country,
climbing higher and deeper,
stopping from time to time
to let the Oldsmobile catch its breath.
It was November.
The leaves had turned brown
and a cold mist shrouded the hillsides.
There were streams and creeks everywhere.
The air felt different
It was very still, heavier and thicker,
and somehow darker.
It made us all grow quiet.
“Welcome to Welch!”
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