Dead Center Hill looking south from the surrounding meadow. A mixture of evergreen and deciduous trees sprouts from it. Soon the leaves of the latter will be gone, along with the undergrowth, perhaps allowing more mysteries to be revealed.
As I walked around the hill, the sun seemed to be slightly eclipsed at one point. I looked up to see a plane and also a bird. They seemed to be on a collision course. Of course they missed each other, flying at vastly different elevations. But I knew that this moment also had meaning. The hill had power.
Probing the western edges of it more, I came across another peculiarity, one I’d actually seen from the top. It was a lateral gorge filled with old bottles and junk. I found myself asking more questions. Who threw this stuff here? And why here and not anywhere on the rest of the hill? Was the gorge dug for this particular purpose? If not, then why is it here? I knew I would not receive many answers this day, and perhaps for a number of years. Dead Center Hill is a place to be studied for quite some time. It is a new center of mental activity.
Another shot of the nearby Wilson River island and its central yellow stone.
Speaking of yellow — when I returned to Warren the Owl King in his grove before heading back home to Blue Mtn., the prostate yellow haired troll doll first seen several days before was now upright, and also a bright red maple leaf had appeared over Warren’s naughty bits. Especially upon later reflection, this too seemed quite peculiar. These placements, not present during my first visit to the being, had to be done on purpose. Is Warren actually Adam, or at least the first of his kind? Mindblowing stuff, really.
Sunklands 