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They Met Their First Resistance Here - The Anti-Rent Wars

I love a fight - a great righteous fight. That's why I settled here. Someone broke the rules in this town way before I did. I suspect everyone here has broken the rules at one time or another, because the hills make us. The trees merge as husband and wife, and, given what life they are in, as brother and sister, lovers, or friends, too. The women I love sometimes join my tribe. Sleep with me in my head for a night or two and move on to teach others about computers, French, why we write so informally in blogs. Either way, you see electricity in this stolen gravel sky. There is current and pulse that bursts and flashes in wild don't-tread-on-me farmscapes. The grass moss carpets and flows from pole to pole. There is no doubt that men and women sweated, lived and died here. That somebody, somewhere stuck out a pole, pointed a bony finger in the face of fear and said, "I don't like you." If resistance is measured in Oms, let us all take the passage back to peace.

I can see the road to it. The hill blocks it. But, if you close your eyes and hold out your hand, I will take you there.

Blue note granite peak

Taken by war and science

I am a blown switch

Story by:

Nancy Klepsch

17 January 2018