StoryreaderThinking About Hills
November 19th 2006 01:20
The first time I saw a hill is actually the first thing I remember. It was more precisely a line of hills, stretched out pale and hazy across the horizon. I was in my Grandmother’s garden serenading a red gerbera. Then I looked up and saw the hills.
Ever since then I have found myself drawn to hills. Once I went up over the hills onto the tableland where the flattens goes on forever and the naked horizons left me feeling lost.
For a while I lived surrounded by the reassuring immediacy of hills. I still live surrounded by hills, but now there are fences and people and houses between them and me. When I feel down I go outside and stare at the hills over the fences and people and houses. And sometimes just being able to see them is almost enough. Almost. But deep down I know that there has to be some good in a world that contains hills.
Ever since then I have found myself drawn to hills. Once I went up over the hills onto the tableland where the flattens goes on forever and the naked horizons left me feeling lost.
For a while I lived surrounded by the reassuring immediacy of hills. I still live surrounded by hills, but now there are fences and people and houses between them and me. When I feel down I go outside and stare at the hills over the fences and people and houses. And sometimes just being able to see them is almost enough. Almost. But deep down I know that there has to be some good in a world that contains hills.
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