As my sleepy feet move across the blacktop, I see the hill. When you live about seventy feet above sea level, what lays before you seems more than just an incline.
Most days the hill leaves me breathless and not in a good way. It challenges me in a way that reminds me of my inadequacies. If hills could talk, I’m sure it has been conversing with the breeze and asking it to be quiet, “Give her a moment of silence. I want the only breath she hears to be her own. It helps her remember that taking a hill is hard and hot and to hold a hill, she must have persistence”
I never face the hill first.
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