There was a man who climbed a hill.
As he walked he pondered the section of the trail, and the season of his life. The terrain was windswept. Only the most scrappy bushes still clung by their stubborn roots, blown sideways away from the Pacific.
Patches of dandelions gripped the ground, their yellow flowers offering unexpected beauty in this stark place.
Below, waves crashed against rocks which stood as dutiful sentinels, metaphors of stability in troubled times.
As he walked, the man concluded that he may not be able to understand why his path to the hill had brought so much pain.
What mattered now was to search out whatever meaning could be taken for the journey ahead.
Hi knew that this was a time for roots to cling to the soil.
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