To do laundry, I must walk up a hill no fewer than three times. And a couple of flights of stairs too, on which I might scale the same distance as the hill, but with drastically less horizontal conquest.
Picked up a book on the hill of my residence the other day. Not unlike the “lake” that my faraway home finds itself by, the “hill” has been, let’s say, influenced by Man (probably men) over time. Haven’t delved too deeply, but some olde thyme engravings seem to indicate change.
All of which of course has an overwhelming, if underlying, significance with today’s image. Or not. Perhaps no relation at all. Except perhaps that’s exactly what’s been lectured about in this institution’s rectangle of learning. Traces of imparted wisdom cling to stone, awaiting a long life apart from their chalk-stick neighbors.
Cubicle, not Classroom, these days.