The LiTTle HiLl

On a lazy Sunday afternoon, I’m listening to one of my favourite John Denver CDs. The songs touch me, in a bittersweet kind of way. And they make me think of nature’s richness and beauty, and a longing to run barefoot across the field outside.

I remember when I was young, my parents would bring me to the Istana gardens come weekend. And I loved those outings. We have a favourite spot, atop a little hill, and we would spend lots of time running up and down that hill.

Such is the energy that comes from being a little child. If you were to ask me to jog down the hill today, I don’t think I can do it. Too many fears run through my mind, about falling and failing.

Wistful, is how I might describe my feelings now.
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