Yearning

On the western slope behind the hill, the sunset is sinking. After it goes over that hill, where does it go? I want to know. Climbing with both hands and feet, yellow dirt and little stones work their way under my fingernails and toenails. My yellow rubber sandals fall off, but I don't bother picking them up. At last, I reach the top. Panting, I gaze into the distance. It turns out there's another hill. The sunset gives me one last satisfied greeting, then slips away. That's all right. We'll meet again.

Theme: Memories of the past are gradually fading into the distance. I hope to record them and leave something behind.