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The green hills of Earth


I live in an odd place, a place that is half jungle, half desert, and all of it is flat. But now I am working in Pennsylvania, a place of hills and valleys and rivers and rocks and trees and grass and rain. It’s beautiful, in its wet, gray, gloomy way. It is easy to see this area as it was a millennia ago, with impenetrable dark forests and wild rivers and forbidding hills looming over the valleys that lie under the gray clouds. Today, of course, it is a place of apartment buildings and businesses and winding streets and family farms, all overlaid on the bones of the slumbering, unchanging, immortal mountains. I dodge heavy trucks and suburbanite commuters in their SUVs, watching the green hills of Earth flowing past my vehicle as it winds its way through the countryside.

It’s a beautiful place. And it’s a nice change from my flat desert-jungle. But I think that I would tire of it, just as I tire of anyplace if I stay too long. Then the dark hills and the gray skies and the wet fields would become a burden, a sight that I cannot bear to see anymore. And then it would be time to leave, and find another place that is new enough to be interesting.

I will not be here long enough to get tired of it. So it may be nice, at some point in the future, to come back.


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