Questions to myself...............

............"What is it about the sight of hazy hills in the distance that casts such an intricate web of gossamer melancholy over my heart?"

Hills with blurred outlines. Make me catch my breath. I could almost choke on the beauty.





I was born and lived at the foot of those hills that the inimitable Karen Blixen waxed lyrical about. The same hills that caught the imagination of Hemingway. I wish I had a photo to share with you...a photo that would summarise the hills that impressed their way into my childhood heart. I could do a Google search and find one - but it is not the same. The hills of my heart rise above the plains like huge fists, They punch the sky and, in their impact remain there in silhouette. Big, big knuckles on the horizon. That is how I remember the Ngong Hills. That is why I love hills. But no hills, no hills in the world can replace the hills of home.

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