[stop]
Jonesin' and it feels great. Mike cranks down the shotgun-side window manually because that's how Stephii do, straight manual, gunning up the Alps, past aqua-blue, still mountain lakes. And all the waterfalls feathering lazy down the green slopes and wet cliffs, black in the summer sun, rising slowly around valley on both sides. I want to live here. A soft sea of clouds, bleached white, washes into the peaks out yonder. Lord, don't let me be dreaming, because this is just too beautiful. It makes the heart beat slower, and the blood pumps with joy at the fresh air it's breathin'. It's blowing in from Mike's window and blasts me in the face in buffets, and it whips past my ears so it's all I hear. Thank God I's a got my sunnies because I hate to eye squint. With those bad boys on, it's a puppy dog's heaven, zoning out in a tongue-lolling euphoria from the feeling of speed on my skin. What is this wondrous countryside we've stumbled upon, of clear-water waterfalls, and lakes, and greens and mountains and crisp blue skies, this Zion, this Shangri-la, like on of those yellow-paged, ageless fairy-tale picture-books come to swallow us whole. It's a dive in, willing, for me, and there's a tiny voice that whispers through the wind telling never to leave. It's enchanting, this place.
