it only seems to be the same - even with a steady gaze I find the world in constant change, and too I see myself shifting to the moments subtle sense of new and parting ways. Nothing is lasting, and in an equal exchange of view and presence I stand before a single flower, wondering of things shared between us, knowing that even now we're altered in some fashion from the first instant of our encounter. Something has been given and lost for both flower and myself, and yet it all seems the same to all apparent reason. Turning away - this, whatever life has now offered, is already in a shift to something other.
~
Peace,
Eric
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