que son valley summer 67

 The Que Son Valley , summer 1967 , sat crouched like a cat ,

fangs bared , tail twitching , a malevolent entity that brooked
your presence grudgingly . Cloaked in emerald shades of
every hue , a deception , a magic trick that fooled the eye ,
held and hid its secrets . An exotic place . Mountains
spilled into valley , valley bisected by tree lines , hedgerows ,
paddies . Beauty everywhere . A perverted beauty . A
deceptive beauty . Beauty with the soul of a serial killer .
Walking through it you were watched by unseen eyes .
By something indefinable . Ghosts . Spirits . Specters .