The hills are being watched. Swathes of apathy, deeply myrtle gripped as martyrs to a helpless Mother Earth. Bent and humbled by treacherous breath the biosphere condenses bearing down ominous and growling over Verdant curves and above brooding present cloaked and distant stalking silent as a predator before the Vengeful pounce, they pray hapless in surrender to the imminence of thunder to the murderous paw that presses through the clouds. Branches outstretched beg the forgiveness of viscous terrain the slow sway of timber quiet and psalm resigned to the perilous pelting pain of deluge