It’s getting toward the end of August, sunflower petals fading, a season soon ending, the green of June is just a dream, Broomweed and Blazing Star bloom along the trail, Bluestem is gone to seed, The grass is so dry it makes a crunchy sound as I walk. The hills seem old and like they are aching for a change, or maybe that’s just in me. Time can seem so slow, yet pass so fast. This morning it feels like time is in the breeze, and in the crickets sounds, and in the sedges by the little wooden bridge, or maybe it’s just in me feeling the passing of time. Then I sit in the shade of a hill for a time and wonder, how I will know when it’s time to go, how much time to pass here, sometimes it seems like no matter how much time we get, it will never be enough, so now I wonder, is it the hills that seem old or is it just me?