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Riding The Roan I feel the power of the roan beneath as we lope along the mountain's narrow path. I hear the wind as it whispers through the pines and tickles Aspen leaves. I smell the moss and the damp earth with every beat of the Roan's hoofs. I see the color of the Indian Paint Brush and the soft hues of abundant wild flowers. My senses alive and acute breathing and tasting the beauty of God's creation. All the storms of life are merely a flicker in my brain, as the roan and I make our way to the plains |
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