Coquille River Valley
The layers of hills that form our coastal range of mountains. Those of you who have been with me since last winter might recognize this valley as one that floods during our winter rains and turns into a lake. This is the serene scene come summer with cows grazing in the rich summer pastures.
(if you’re interested, it’s pronounced co-keel around here)
Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. Living was a hawk in the sky. Living was an earthen jar of water in the dust of the threshing with the grain flailed out and the chaff blowing. Living was a horse between your legs and a carbine under one leg and a hill and a valley and a stream with trees along it and the far side of the valley and the hills beyond.
― Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls