I think I’m going back to the country
I’m gonna get some shit on my shoe
I’m gonna get lost when I miss the turnoff
At Cattle Creek or at Oamaru
My immigrant wife is blown away by the sheer size of the hills
We drove so far today
We would have crossed three borders from her country
When I was young I had a room by the river
And I looked straight up to the hills
The hills are still there and I’m biking to work
From a different place, but still
The hills are strong and visceral
They have a mass that I can feel
Hills remain and hills don’t change
I’m passing through, just passing through
A few years later I worked on the farm
I was up to my eyeballs in hills
Hundreds of miles away
South and inland
The same backbone, the same divide
I know I’ll be back I know it’s gonna be real
I know what I come for
The hills’ big brothers are standing here
And I just wanna say hullo
Angular, clean, dry, brown and frostbitten, windblown, sheep-shat and sharp. The hills are hardbitten, they’re a granite tradition, standing in the sky. . .
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