Hobhouse, Free State

I can't resist turning off the already less than main road, and into places like Hobhouse. I'm lured down their roads, some of them tarred, then I park my car and listen to the peace and quiet, also the birdsong, while drawing in deep the dry, dusty air. This is how other people live. I'm drawn to the remoteness and quiet. Also to the doves in the distant trees.

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