Homesick VIII

A yearning, deep as marrow, aches for the fondly remembered hills of home. The rolling swells under an old sky whisper tales unspoken, yet known to the heart. Dawn and dusk etch their forms, a dance of shadow and light. Echoes of lark-song and scent of rain-kissed fields persist in memory's hold. Those familiar hills, a language of love and life, resonate with the footfalls of time, their echo a soft refrain of homecoming.