There is a farm laying softly beside a river in eastern
Tennessee. It is peaceful there, grass
just coming up, ancient trees beginning to drop their fall leaves into the
water which is lolling its way to the sea.
It is quiet there; you can hear every breeze, every morning bird and
every thought of your heart. We call it
The Farm.
I am sitting in the airport ready to fly away to Los
Angles. I wonder why?
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