The Average Age of Time
Where the wind went was some time ago. Leaves of a vital purpose turn browner maunder.
Rains rush in tactics of space adventure. A wind across a parking lot makes discoveries
and ramps. The sky boldly fills.
Today the ether of planning rumbles with reports of rain. The system collects its moments,
as do people. We are alive in our placing, the neural venture, the stutter of space. Endlessness
makes just one part of time.
Other parts adjust the town. Snow will be a sentiment. Daffodils even now are dedicated.
This flurry of reports is the definition of exact. They stay intact for the bracing wind and
choose rain in the streets. Autumn rises exactly in time, for the time that it takes. The skies are
not cloudy all day.