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Up and up.  Up and up.  Rolling slowly.  To the top.

The boulder inched forward in steady spurts, passively following the groove of the path.  The groove was just its size, exactly.  It felt the dirt crushed to dust beneath its weight.  Behind, the steady pressure of the man’s hands and the callous of his shoulder.

He was not a young man.  It was not a young rock.  And the hill was very old indeed.

Up and up.  Up and up.

The summit was drawing nearer, and the man was breathing hard.  The boulder pitied his effort.  What was it for?  They had been here many times before, and would be so again.

Up and up.  Up and up.

“I’m afraid I have to admit,” the boulder whispered in apology, “rolling back down is my favorite part.”

The man, in his rhythm, only shrugged.

“It is a good hill.”

Up and up.

Up and up.


The painting is by Franz von Stuck – http://masterpieceart.net/franz-von-stuck/ 2009-09-06 06:59:48, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22766484