Excerpt from the novel, No Dogs or Indians

**From their vantage point, the river was a shining silver ribbon twisting along miles of rough-cut chalkstone gorges flanked by shimmering cottonwoods and ponderosa pines… From her seat in the saddle on the big black horse, Clara felt as though she was sitting at the top of the world, somewhere pretty close to the doorstep of heaven…
Taking a seat on a large rock near the edge of the bluff, Clara considered the river valley below.
How beautiful it looked from such a distance—as colors and shapes flung from God’s own hand; the first signs of autumn showing in the cottonwoods, like so many gold coins cast among their cresting crowns.
How easily the water flowed; urgent pull over sand and stone, indifferent to endless shifting beneath a smooth-gliding surface. How silent the reformation rendered by such relentless grace.
How much the river had reshaped her own life…**

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