A hill too far away

The golden light of early evening is suffusing through the gums to light the western faces of the houses across the valley. On my sound system the soundtrack to Rambo is playing. I am remembering times like this, after returning home from high school, I would lie on my bunk staring out the window, immobile and listening to the same music. Or I would walk out to the front of our house and stare out across the barely populated lands to the Berserker Ranges.

I knew what lay behind those ranges, Rockhampton, a city I felt little enthusiasm for. So I would look further to the left of the ranges, towards another distant collection of hills. I would dream of running away towards those hills, then past them and onwards, far to the south towards the city of my birth.

Now I look out of the window from our house in Sydney, towards the distant hills.

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