absence/presence

For every threshold crossed, yet another new arises;
The falling of the moon beckons the day, just as the dying sun calls her back to rise once more.
There is no stone that has forever gone unturned, no sky which has not seen a cloud, no blade of grass which has not known the pressing of the wind upon its delicate form.
Just as the world around us, we too fold and grow, blossom and wither, moving through the moments as if each were a season in a dream beyond the eyes of the waking world.
We are here… then, we are not.