I know what time it is – the plants on my balcony fade from green to beige to dead-brown.

He knows what time it is but doesn’t want anyone else to know – but they know.

She knows what time it is but doesn’t care about me anymore – her life is on track and going very well.

They know what time it is – time to continue on as ever as the light fades away.

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When I was little, Fall was a tall pile of crunchy leaves in the backyard. It was the great expanse of our place in the world made bigger by the absence of foliage – more space to play. Fall was the shrugging on of colorful, warm coats pulled from the front closet with the wide swinging doors. 

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Look at the girl, grinning. Dream of that girl, dreaming. Back before everything became different.

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What do you remember? What will she remember – little sweet running thing, tiny small jumping thing, precious baby laughing thing? What can we make, build, burn, do for her? What did you ever think you could do?

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Beauty staring into beauty, fading like colors of Fall, fading like memories of childhood, staring backwards at everything, staring forwards at everything. Take more pictures – they don’t fade as fast.