No matter what is happening within our own lives, we never stop spinning, we're never at a standstill. Some days drag on ceaselessly while at work, sitting in class, or over a friendless day during summer break. Occasionally slow days may drift through doldrums to become weeks while we impatiently wait.
But on a macroscale, days or weeks rapidly morph into different months, seasons, years. Trips, rides, books read, conversations shared and all other events become compressed as though photographed through a telephoto lens. It can become difficult to remember what lay between more prominent elements in the frame.
Outside my window fall has finally actually arrived. There have been glimpses of it on excursions up high, but at home summer heat has been stifling, roasting leaves to the ground prematurely.
Now cool, damp gray clouds offer relief. Summer's heat is already compressed into memory; fall's color, sharp air, soft light fill my mind's frame.
Imagining light reflected from piles of frozen crystals has me reflecting on seasons past, of things done, places gone.