As copper leaves fly, and deciduous trees' leaves die. As the howling wind ceases and rain dries, and a lonesome songbird cries. Time passes us inevitably by. Changing rapidly with the indecisive sky. Dressing itself in cloaks weaved by light, reflected among pieces smaller than our sight that through hearts, with words passed by. Along this winding current of passing time. Carrying memories in carbon, and lingering breath in condensate. Hands reach into the sky to beckon a wait, a pause in an unstoppable great. Yet it passes faster still, as you hurry with might into the late, seeking the past against time's will. With spite it passes faster still. Defiantly blurring your sight at the present, when even your future is already pressed so tight. You yearn for the known, as you rarely have before, and by changing so you wonder what has changed. How moments seemed more full, and less bittersweet. Fret not, though our time is a grain of sand to it all, it is all to our all. All we'll ever see mortally, as we pass on inevitably. Live not to browse and recreate the past, but to live for now and for what is yet to come. And from Past's chackles you shall be free.