Of Passing Time
The movement of the seasons is so much more pronounced here than my recent long frame of reference. Plants grow and bloom in an orderly sequence, internally programmed over millennia.
I observe this march of blossoms, cataloging species to their time, becoming acutely aware of the turning of each day.
The details that chronicle each click of the wheel are not always bold.
Subtle clues abound in the emergence and disappearance of another unheralded green layer of the living tapestry the rises from and descends into the earth. Each in their time.
The spotlets grow, almost a year old now. Each day they become more settled in the comfort of our routine.
Lessons are learned about the other inhabitants of the mountains.
A framed view of the setting sun shows its southern journey is already under way.
Anxious over time.