Standing still
The breeze comes down from hills behind you
Chills you and stiffens you
Dead still, cold reality
Reflecting back a thousand hours
Each one a step down that hill
Yet standing still
Commanding the breeze to cease
Turning to face it
A thousand hours of blended memory
The bush around these hills murmurs
The breeze lapses
It's a cold reality as breeze resurges
It brushes against goosebumped skin
whispers with semblance of inquiring ghost
Why are you smiling?
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