
image: pxhere.com
Without Horizon
Raised in hills and valleys,
Land of waterfalls and sheep,
Of cloud and rain, and narrow views,
The sky pinched by mountains steep.
Reared in a place of woodlands,
Of trees and foliage thick,
By forests on every hand – closing in,
The sky dappled by leaves and sticks.
Raised in climes of ice and snow,
Where, as one, land and sky do blend,
A white-washed place of blowing drifts,
A vast whiteness without end.
(74 words)
Padre
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This piece is offered as a metaphor for how our views are narrowed by our upbringings, and how our world can be so well enhanced by seeing the world (both literally and through the eyes of others).
I could see that place as I read it.
Sound like your place was the opposite of my present place: horizon to horizon, one flat plain.
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Incredibly descriptive especially the chilling final verse’
My seventy-four!
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