One road, the cliffs on one side and the whole Pacific on the other.
To lose the hours to the ride, and let the landscape take what's left. The long way round is the only way we know.
The road climbs away from the coast and then leaps the ravine on a long viaduct — green folding into green, the sea left somewhere behind the ridge.
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Cloud spilling over the crater edge; the drop just vanishes into it.
The Seto islands fade one ridge at a time as the colour goes.
Brown still underfoot in April, snow still holding at the top.
A patient horse, a quiet forecourt, the mist closing in by noon.