The psalmist starts by asking a real question, not a rhetorical flourish: where does my help come from? He's genuinely looking, scanning the hills, probably a natural place to expect help or threat in that terrain. And the answer redirects entirely: not the hills themselves, but the Maker of them. Then the psalm ends with a phrase easy to skim past: both now and forevermore. That's not just present-tense comfort. It's a claim about your coming and going in every specific moment ahead, not a single rescue but ongoing watching, spanning both the immediate anxious moment and everything after it you can't yet see.