green is good

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high life

By all appearances it is nothing resembling flight. If you were to see us trudging up a hillside or picking our way along the ragged bed of a creek, the last thing you would compare it to is flying. And when we are huffing and puffing away and just putting one foot in front of the other to make our way back at the end of a long day, we are not thinking of soaring and gliding. But take my word for it, when we are there, we are flying across the hills.