I have been thinking a lot about this same day last year...I do remember some events of the day. I remember the damp coolness of the morning and the whiteness of sky and earth...
I think I may even have pondered where I would be a year hence...and here I am...
I remember riding in a helicopter and looking out at the desert, with the wind blowing hard; and I remember spending time in a small wood-paneled library reading. Waiting.
As time moves we seem to only mark it by its passage. We are always behind any instant that has occurred.
The flow of time does seem like a bright glistening stream; we may dip our hand in to stem its flow, but the water passes us by, only chilling our hands.
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