(15 February 2010)
A pair of feet waged on towards the top of the hills.
The short, quick flicking sounds of grasshoppers making a dash for safety blended discordantly with the rustling of the grass blades. Shadows are growing long, and so the rush. The golden orb is now about to kiss the hills.
After settling on a favorite branch, those pair of eyes surveyed the plains wrapped in gold, and the clouds in fiery orange. The last sounds of day echoed in distant bird songs. As if on cue, smoke rose slowly on humble homes below the hills. Those curious eyes lovingly focused on one of them.
Jumping from the arcing branch, those feet steadied its stooped body. As if owning the strong beams of golden light, those short arms conducted the beams like an orchestra in a slow recessional, flailing from side to side, directing light to move further back, in faint retreat.
When the sun completely dipped into the horizon, a restless pair of feet ran carefree down into the plains, without missing a beat, without a misstep. The paths have become familiar after a thousand suns…
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