The story of a Hermit who lives on a hill by himself.

The Hermit lies each day upon a sun-kissed hill

As the day ends

the sun gone down

he lays his sun drenched body on the grass

he looks up to the sky

a twinkling star shines brightly in the melted sky

its blue seemingly vanished

this immediate world houses this reclusive soul

as he lies in the sweet smelling night air.


He has surrendered his being to this hill in which anything could happen

but contentedly he rests

he remembers his younger self

a man of charm

of pep and vigour

a carpet upon which people stepped on without care

to crush and to dissolve

forced to run

like a Neanderthal

he let nature take him into its massive palm and adapt him

mould him.


Nature can be kind

it can choose to be horrid to

a storm sweeps the hill

tossing and turning everything in sight

a tree falls in the frantic mess

blades of grass fly like a birds feather torn and ripped

then one lands in his eye

he tries to stand

he is picked up by the ferocity of the wind

he doesn't scream

he prevents his former catching up with his present

he screams silently for his fate

for that women he once loved and was made to desert

silently he cries for his plain Jane

as he sees his life flash before his eyes

and stop!


The Hermit wakes to the gentle hum of the robin

a frequent visitor to the hill

he sets up his daily hunt for his breakfast

wondering off into the day

whatever it may bring.



The End

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