As the hills grew smaller and smaller
I once cried inhaling the smoke of a burnt forest... I've watched dandelions dance, I've heard waterfalls roar with war songs And seeped out into deep river runs, I remember the pleasure of sunsets and the terror of vicious snakes, The sweat flowing down my back and neck, The sound my nostrils make as they struggle to breathe, My heart thumping, my knees cracking... But I also remember the trees growing tired, The rocks groaning under the fire, The leaves screaming in sheer terror, The hills growing smaller and smaller, For a long moment, the world did not make sense to me, I struggled to reconcile, I struggled to put my heart back in. Memory can be a cruel witch, But Repetition is the merciless one. And I am knocking at her door with all kinds of interpretation, all kinds of questions.. "Where did all the melodies go?" "Why have my hills disappeared?"
