The days fade like candles slowly feeding on themselves: layer after layer eroding to the core. But after a point, the rush towards winter is anything but ponderous, and all downhill. Stand resolute all you wish, yet time will change us still, washing us away until the core becomes flesh, still yielding, still diminishing, still eroding into deeper understanding. Each day, each year, is like this. We say the earth-mother changes slowly, but she does not, and neither, we. What is known today is not the same tomorrow. The differences are subtle: enough so to be unseen in glances. But what we are, and what we see are never truly stagnant, provided we are truly alive. So, the constancy is change, and all our veiled complexities kneel before it, like the hills beneath the winds and snows and rains.
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