The Hill

In the center of the park, as if pointing to the Infinite, live a group of sturdy, tall trees. They reach into the sky; columns of an ancient temple, the Temple of Silence.
The Good Book counsels: the Meek shall inherit the Earth. In this place, meekness comes easy. Those trees, their brothers and the ancient hill conspire to help us become still. Still, quiet and small. Small enough to hear the faint voice that speaks there; eloquent and shattering. Speaks about the important, about spirit and about priorities.
Across the center of the park, a scar of a busy road flows. Large and noisy trucks rumble across that saddle. One would expect the road to be a distraction. Somehow it isn't. The Hill uses it to illustrate a point. It looks down at our town, with all that Human doing and all that stuff and the race to get more and more stuff--
We are believers in Stuff; addicted. We believe in Stuff and the symbols of Stuff. Trucks full of stuff groan across the hill and the quiet voice asks:
Enough? Have you had enough?