A red hill doesn't touch everyone's heart as it touches mine . . and I suppose there is no reason why it should. The red hill is a piece of the bad lands where even the grass is gone. Bad lands roll away from my door, hill after hill -red hills of apparently the same sort of earth that you mix with oil to make paint. All the earth colors of the painter's palette are out there in the many miles of bad lands. The light Naples yellow through the ochres orange and red and purple earth - even the soft earth greens. You have no association with those hills our waste land - I think our most beautiful country - you may not have seen it, so you want me always to paint flowers.