it is difficult to think of time as a passing thing when you are right in the middle of it. lifetimes go by when you travel—you are never the same at the beginning as you are in the end. you write but you cannot keep up. your skin changes in softness. your hair remembers to curl. you feel your heart beat at the tip of your toes, and all of your histories rumble in the depths of your lower back. every place is new even though every place is old. these sights come from another time. (and you come from another land.) yet what people saw then is likely what you see today: trees bending to the will of the wind, birds quiet in the fog.