Morning Musings

This hill has been my perch for as long as I can remember; carried here by a glacier and
deposited on the crest of this outlook, Ive watched as the humans altered my surroundings time
and time again. Ive learned that the humans have an affinity for altering nature, for changing
the very face of a landscape. First, they constructed gargantuan buildings in their industrial
districts, then they built a sprawling learning centre, and finally, deeming the landscape not
altered enough to their satisfaction, they created a recreational zone. I dont often look upon
these sites, but they make their presence known in other ways. From my hill I can hear the
rumble of trucks on the highway, the sound waves rolling through the air towards me and
crashing against my hill like an oceans. In this way, the unnatural drone seems almost at one
with nature. In fact, nature seems to be nonplussed by the nearby industry: the sparrows
continue to croon, serenading each other as all lovers do, oblivious to the world; the red
squirrels carry an animated dialogue, chattering to each other day in and day out; and the geese
continue their raucous symphony, the noises they produce as they fly over my hill a greater
disturbance than the nearby trucks.
This day commenced with rain, which produced a gentle pattering on my surface as the
droplets submitted to the will of gravity and plummeted to the Earth. It wasnt long before the
sun made an appearance, causing the surly grey clouds to cease fire. I didnt understand why
the sun halted this shower. These werent the angry rainclouds, the ones whose tantrums
wreaked havoc on the surroundings; they were the docile rainclouds, bestowing the gift of
hydration upon the parched Earth.
The day remained overcast, a reminder of the mornings events. This meant the suns
wheedling rays were unable to coax the raindrops into returning to the atmosphere, and instead
they adorned the branches of the trees like pearls. A gust of wind rolled over the hill,
affectionately tousling the blades of grass. The tree branches waved to the Wind, their dear
friend and worst enemy, as the water droplets shook in fright, falling to the ground. The Wind
passed by me, wafting up the musty smell of wet grass. This fragrance contrasted to the sharp
scent of the cool morning air, but it was not unpleasant. Unpleasant was the smell of the acrid
smog which permeated the hill on days when the Wind was particularly unkind, cutting through
the scents of nature like a knife through hot butter.
My train of thought was broken by the Wind, the rascal he is. The Wind loves the nearby
human landscape. Personally, I dont care for the flamboyant colours, or that artificial
playground in general. It attracts the human spawn in droves, and they flock to the unnatural
structures and shriek in delight. The park is empty now, but the Wind still enjoys awakening the
metal noise machines and work them into a frenzy. Though this noise grates against me,
wearing me down with a force greater than that of erosion, it does not seem to bother the birds.
They continue to flutter from light post to light post, pioneers of the alien landscape.

But what do I know? On these wet days water works its way into the cracks and
crevices in my body, contaminating my river of thoughts with the poisonous fog of a foul mood.
Soon the sun will break through the clouds and impart some warmth into my stone-cold heart,
and that will clear my mind of this negativity. I know this with unabashed certainty, as this had
been the cycle of my life ever since my vigil atop this hill began. Daybreak is smothered by
Nightfall until Day breaks free again, and here I remain: a stowaway on a rock even larger than
myself, one of the many spectators in the Earths endless waltz around the Sun.