This is my run away hill.

When life hands you an infestation of lemons, sometimes it’s good to get away.
At my run away hill, I sit under a huge sycamore tree. It’s the most perfect tree, it even has a bum grove to sit on! (I feel like a garden gnome)

At the top of the hill, I look over the town. I can see and hear the train come and go, hear and see the traffic, I can even hear the occasional beeping of a reversing lorry. But the best part is, that is all in the distant. Closer to me I can hear the beautiful sound of robins and blue tits shouting abuse at each other, claiming the hill is their territory.

When dusk starts to set in I see the lights start to turn on, the church glow and the red brake lights of cars floating down the road. If I’m really lucky I see the ghostly figures of hunting barn owls or the bold, wise orange eyed, short eared owl