Worcestershire Beacon by Boz

As he climbs the side of the hill the wind blows a symphony in his ears, the grass caresses his feet, the dew damps his socks and the sweet smell of bracken fills his head.

To the top, to the top …

Every breath is held for as long as possible ­ saving all his breathing for the breathless moment when, as he reaches the crest of the hill, the dawn breaks and he will be standing on top of the world, master of all he sees.

Fragments by Boz

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