the invisible line, curving out over the tower.
The black prism
at an enthusiastic pace before settling into a more moderate tempo.
Home to italy
the red stone, cutting little puffs of red dust, and sung through the air.
The Heritage of the Desert: A Novel
so quickly that I was huffing and puffing myself by the time we got to the north exit.
Red Planet Blues
Trees lay at all angles around them like a tornado had
in a near-straight line and torn them out by the roots.
It was still dark, and the streets were empty and wet with ocean mist as we
on our way toward Santa Monica.
Once the external configuration change was complete, our vehicle
the spin axis to the northern hub in a matter of a few minutes.
The Complete Rama Omnibus
with the wind in our faces, speeding through the waves so smooth and steady I hardly needed to hold on at all.
The Sea of Monsters
"If it gets too cold for you, let me know," Jack said as they
the two-lane road leaving Missoula behind.
Love at first sight