That time of year thou mayst in me behold...

As time passes, change flows and ebbs in everything. It is as though the entire world is a large home in which a fine dust settles on disused shelves and sheets draped on old furniture, but in other rooms the chatter of voices and the cheer of clear light are to be heard, seen and felt. Time is experience. I look at my hands typing these letters. These will decompose. Before then, in years to come they will change. The dapple of sunshine, the corrosion of water. Touch.