dVerse Poets Pub prosery Monday where Sanaa is our hostess.
This evening, I would like you to write a Prose piece which includes the line: “The hills so dry, so dense the underbrush, that where I pushed my way the giant hush was changed to soft explosion.”
Prosery: A View from the Hills
Dust Roads
I haven’t walked those roads in years, yet memory returns without invitation. Growing up on the west coast of Norway, silence had a shape—mountains standing watch, roads curling where old stories lived.
But this memory comes from somewhere warmer, stranger. Fuerteventura perhaps, where dry earth cracks beneath your feet and even the wind sounds thirsty.
I remember wandering too far once, chasing quiet as if it owed me answers.
The hills so dry, so dense the underbrush, that where I pushed my way the giant hush was changed to soft explosion.
A bird startled upward.
My own breath startled too.
Funny how grief works like that—stillness, stillness… then suddenly something hidden takes flight.
https://www.blenza.com/linkies/links.php?owner=dversepoets&postid=04Jun2026a&meme=13019
With love
— Maggie The Afterlove Voice 💫
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