Time flows by in the substance of existence silently...with ardous labour in love.  Those who cling to the noise and the illusion of action, stingily counting the number of hair turning white paint the shadow of regret upon the lines of wrinkles of the skin: cannot feel the caress of a future that time promises to uncover.
     Like the eyesight ends at the illusive horizon, the feet swiftly skipping the cracks o­n the sidewalk that do not wish to slow down and hurrily chase after victories and mistook fulfilled ambitions for laughter: they do not have reflection as a friend.

     ...But still time loves: oh, how time loves
        us all: 
     ...the drunkened racers and the lingering steps out o­n a walk beneath the stars: it let the silence of the night carries the sleepers across the threshold of rationality into the landscape of enigmatic dreams; and reminds the mind that it should o­nly be the laborer of the heart.  o­nly the heart can take the dreamers back to the original purpose of living a life true to its existential meaning.
     Time will wake up the dreaming race into the knowing of how precious love is in honest tears that spark into joy.  Waiting is not the same as patient awareness: for getting there hurrily does not equate with the actuality of finally being there.

      A watch or a clock sometimes chokes consciousness with the nuts and bolts of a machine.  o­nly in the songs of a rushing creek, in the murmurs of tall green pines, beneath the shadow of the mountains that are the witnesses of mortality, the fading song o­n the wings of a bird taking flight: can take a heart back to the immense realization that until it hears Time's love in its beating, it hasn't yet fulfilled the meaning of love that it is known to be a symbol of.   To feel the love that Time harbors is the first awakening into the vast absolute Mystery!