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350 unmotorized miles from Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C.
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The air moves around you
Like water over a stone,
The purified air,
Free of combustion and ash
Free of concussion and clash,
The miles passing
As if the world
Had fully recovered
From an illness
Of epidemic proportion —
Hear the wind in the trees — passing,
Hear the river over stones — passing,
Hear the fine whir of elegant machinery
In tune with your pulse and your breath —
Passing. Passing.
What the river says,
That is what you say.
