On Top Of The Old Hill

Morning light kissed the lush grass over the valley and onto the rolling hills, beginning each and every day with a silent awakening of blissful silence and calm winds.  Darkness of the passing twilight is giving way to the light shades of gray and then into the early blue of day.  A slight breeze passes by with whispers of old tales of an even older time.  None more so than the old hill that greets the rising sun first, every day since time immemorial.  No longer alone with the earth giving birth to the trees, bushes, and the streams that flow through it.  Feathers loosened from birds aloft fall graciously from the heavens towards the waving grass or the ever flowing water, home for both saintly creatures that bring gifts of bounty to all.

Lightly prancing from flower petal to another, the harvesting bees and fluttering butterflies take part in a collective waltz of harmony.  Touching only for a brief moment before passing onto another flower, these servants of nature busy themselves for the new day, as every day they commit to doing the same event.  A wheel turning harmoniously throughout this peaceful valley, with only the old hill with its’ tales of when men had built empires, giants carving their way through the earth, and monsters of both the day and night rampaging about.  This old hill is truth that nature will always take care of itself, despite those who walk through the forests, across the vast mountains, over the deep sea, and lay rest on the old hill.  Nature cares not for the winds telling those of short mortality that time ruins all, for time will only aid nature with making scars over old wounds left behind by war, bury stories of heroics with dirt and mud, and break down castles with vines and trees.

Of what paintings can truly hold the beauty of life that is created each and every day and night?  Cusp each moment that you live to see the blue sky and shining night.  Every bright sunlight and soft glow of the moon that touches your skin is a reminder of why you should live.  The passion of the sands that dance in the desert, to the swirling waves of the sea excite the hearts of many for the wonders that behold them.  But alas, nature still grows and blossoms, and man is no longer here to lay upon the old hill to gaze it all.  Only the old hill is here to in their steed, to be awakened by the sun and slumber under the moon.

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