Loose petals and a strong wind, the minutes to the hours grown into days are those, fluttering without a number but in the same ways, lost, forever moving along forever. 

What is so enriching about day breaks and the passage of the mid-morning sun if its shadows shape-shift behind me, with doubt and anxiety of something I reached that keeps names and faces hidden unknown.

The colors are fading into pastel, lighter and less consuming, which in other words, less here and more disappearing. 

But this is how this is, and I am how I am, the passage of places and the simmering of time, more grown, more unknown, more of all those shifting things.