文档介绍：Sand|流沙
Maybe he liked me because I liked the hills. He loved them. I would get on my horse and ride over to his place; he and I would walk to a big hill near his house and sit there and talk.
It was truly a magnificent7 hill, its sand golden, its grass sparse8 but tall and green in summer. You could see for miles from its top. Almost any day you could get a glimpse of the smoke from trains on the Burlington Railroad, 25 miles to the north. In the early afternoon, by looking hard, you could see the blue-gray9 tip10 of Long’s Peak11, 100 miles to the west.
One day as he sat there letting a handful of sand fall slowly through his fingers he said, “You may climb hills and mountains of sand and be close to the stars. But the sand underfoot12 always shifts13 like the passing of time. And you can’t grasp more than a handful at once.”
Then he smiled and said, “Two years is a long time, isn’t it? It seems a long time to you, I mean.”
I said yes; in two years I would be 14.
He nodded. “And with a lot of years ahead of you. What are you going to do with them?”
I told him I didn’t know.
“Of    course  you   don’t,”he said. “There are many things to do when you’re young. But remember this: nothing is truly impossible. There’s always a way over or through or around any difficulty.” He sighed14 and coughed quietly for a moment; soon he got up and walked slowly back