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  • Writer's pictureAnne Sweet

A Windswept Hill

I don’t know why or how

the certainty arises,

the absolute knowing

of how all this works,

the deep, unshakeable

conviction in one’s theories,

insights and realizations.

I don’t know why or how

the certainty dissolves

leaving convictions and beliefs,

truths and absolutes

dispersing like smoke

on a windswept hill,

leaving only vague memories

of the comfort and security

they once bestowed.

I don’t know why or how

the need to know

and the knowing itself

evaporated, leaving me

stranded on this windswept hill,

alive to the currents of air,

the faraway views,

the blessed ground

beneath my feet,

and very,

very, little else.

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