Bering Strait Country The United States of America is the third largest country in the world with an area of 9.8 million Km2 and the third country with more inhabitants with 305,8 million inhabitants. The country's capital is Washington, D.C. The country consists of 50 States, district of Columbia and fourteen units. The United States bordering North Canada South to Mexico and the Caribbean, to the East by the Atlantic Ocean and on the West by the Pacific Ocean, also the State of Alaska bordered on the South by the Pacific Ocean, on the North by the Arctic Ocean, to the East with Canada and on the West by the Bering Strait. At the two ends of the country, East and West mountain ranges, the Appalachian mountains in the East and the Rocky Mountains, Sierra Nevada and Cascade Range are to the West. Between these ridges there are the American Plains, crossed by rivers and the Nevada desert between the Rocky and sierra nevada. The hydrographic network of the United States has to the Mississippi with approximately 3,820 km of length and a flow of 12.740 m3/s at the mouth. Its major tributaries the Missouri River of 4,130 km long and the Ohio River of 1,579 Km. The Yukon in Canada, rio Grande, rio Colorado and Columbia rivers. Apart from the rivers there are large lakes, five lakes which together have an area of 238,260 km2. Due to the vast size of the country can be found a variety of climates, arrtico and subarctic Alaska and Northeast, tempered with rains year round in the fourth Southeast, Alpine climate in the Rocky Mountains, temperate with dry summers in the coastal part of Pacific and dry desert and steppe climates in the zones between the Pacific and the Rocky and Rocky and the Mississippi basin.
The Man Of The Log Now you are hung of the infamous log, you are injuriado and you mistreated. I cannot see your eyes, because you raise the head towards the sky What ingenuously you look for? A cloud happens, a flock of crows. Somebody picks up the flight of its mantle and returns to the tired city. Behind himself it leaves a dust sign. The hill where they have lead to you is barren and gray. Some men murmur while your body is nailed in the cross. They seem to be after a linen cloth. The soldiers hold affirm their lances against the ground, while populacho takes roots in the esplanade and he laughs of you, yes, of you. Your dark face descends now on the chest. A fog ring fits your front bored by the thorns. The blood coagulates in your beard and it slides like a viper by your body. A fly hums near your eyes. You can see it? What thought of repentance will cross raudo and inasible by your head? What vision of infamia shakes to you while you hurt the air with your voice terrible? What invisible end sinks in your trembly meat until finding your heart? You hallucinate, you cry out by the presence of the emissaries of the fire, by the telluric forces of your nonexistent sky. I can escucharte call to the espantajos that bury their diamond hooks on rocks made bristle on the mount where you vanish. You think that crowd of down has mercy by you there? Perhaps you imagine that they will rise against the empire to prevent your death? You cannot moverte, the nails perforate your meat they grasp and you to the log. The blood continues emanating with slowness and leaves on your skin a map of cloudy irises. No longer...

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