Soft Seconds
Winter moves in like memories. Falls down from the black, like soft seconds floating from a clock. It piles up silence. And silence is cold.
The roads are gone now, erased into primary. They blend with the powdered landscape. As the sound goes, so does identity. Appearance and accoustics changing as fluffed, drifting moments, tumble down from an hourglass gone to glitter.
The lights grow halos.
This new cover holds, like a memory, the places we have walked. But those rememberances grow shallow, fill up and, eventually, are made smooth.
New time. White time.
Memory is a landscape that changes with time, endures its seasons. All memories have Winter nights that press in through the walls...and others that smooth over.
But here, now, you can go out in it. Look up, like looking at the darkness behind your closed eyes. Watch the sky flutter down, while your air floats up.
Think about memories and time, in the falling night -- when all is contrast and cold: snowflakes and breath turned to vapor.
And silence, deepening.