If I stop at the top of the hill and look around, I can see right out to the horizon. I see the trees, lakes, fields and sky. Close in, it’s green and yellow, the water cold blue. In the distance, countryside is blue and grey. The sky is vast, a myriad of blues, greys, lavenders and whites. In some parts, the sky and lake merge and the horizon disappears. Of course, if I come tomorrow, it’ll be different, the colours will have changed and I can see the horizon again.
From the bottom of the hill, looking up, I see trees, the hill and sky – white clouds on blue. The world is smaller, the horizon nearer. The lake in the distance has disappeared – the colours are louder. From here everything appears bigger. Am I smaller, I wonder.
The trees and the hill tower above me. But on top of the hill, the distance alters perception and I feel insignificant – but huge. The sky is massive, but I stand above everything. The mountains can sit on my hand – the trees are mere twigs on the ground. The colours are different. Grass has many shades of green, flowers glow like jewels.
Of course, generally I just trudge up the hill and down the hill, and I don’t look at anything. It’s there, but I don’t see because it’s always there. Or is it? Would I notice if it disappeared?