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Manuscripts

Authors

Dick Runnels

Abstract

In these turbulent, noisy days, I sometimes like to stop and think of the peaceful, the quiet things in my life. As a child, I suppose the most quiet things I knew were the great, silent hills of our farm. How often have I romped and scurried over/ these hills, independent of all restraint'! Or how often have I wandered aimlessly through their protecting shadows while pondering my boyish problems? Always their vast silence offered no opposition to my mood, Like friendly old men, they sat about watching me grow, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning, but always quietly understanding.

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