Anyone lived in a pretty how town? Up so floating many bells down. Spring, summer, autumn, winter.

He sang his. Didn't he danced his did? A woman and men. Both little and small. Careed for anyone.

Not at all.

They slowed there.

Isn't they reaped to their same?

Sun moon, stars.

The grey.

My summer job is giving tours of the woods and trails just outside my hometown of Older Hills, New Jersey.

So far, it has been a nice job to have right before starting college.

The pay is good. Appreciative customers often give me tips which I am allowed to keep and I love being outdoors.

I'm a small, pretty girl and often people express surprise that I'm willing to go out into the woods alone, even in broad daylight, with total strangers.

Maybe it's just the carelessness of youth.

My routine is simple.

I stand in the main parking lot of the Older Hills Woods Reservation,

wearing khakis, hiking boots, and a maroon Older Hills Park's department polo shirt.

I carry a clipboard, but the clipboard is really for show, since I keep all the forms, maps, and information,

I might need stored in my phone.

My boss has me carry the clipboard,

because he says, studies show that clipboards let people know you're

somewhere in an official capacity. My boss is a smart cookie. Whenever I think of older hills,

I think of that E. E. Cummings poem, anyone lived in a pretty howl town. Older hills is a pretty hal town.

Full of old, money, and old mansions with big emerald green lawns,

...