The dirt turned to memories
Stories that pulled the decades from the hills
And laid them out in the prayers and busted knuckles
Weathered hands turn to volumes
The hottest sweats of summer
The coldest winds of winter
Were rituals endured
What whittles away life
Sometimes need be loved



The land had taken him in
And together they had farmed
The solitude kept the humans untouchable
The hills became his lovers
Years turned over into decades
He did not know they were the last seeds
But the world had become a madness
It had exhausted his will
So he left it….to be his last harvest