The Hill Where I Once Stood

I stood on the hilltop looking out over the water, watching the advancing storm. Foaming, white-crested waves beat against the shore, smashed against the foot of the hill, and carved great gaps into its side. The wind whipped fiercely, blowing the sand in great gusts of gritty brown.

Rain fell from the sky, and the water rushed down the hillside in torrents and washed out onto the beach. Great fissures opened up where it ran downhill. A tree standing near the edge fell, leaving behind an empty hole where once its tangled roots held the hilltop firm.

Another tree fell. And then in a thundering crash silenced only by the howling wind, a great part of the hillside gave way, sliding down to where the waves began to wash it away. And then another tree and another. And then another slice of the hillside.

The storm clouds covered the sun that used to shine down on that place and the blue skies that used to bless it. And the hill where I stood was no longer the same hillside I had once known.

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