Place and Time, Time In Place

Place and Time, Time in Place I hear the mourning dove, her lonesome call cooing softly, somewhere in the shade. The sum holds steady strong and blinding, high straight up in the midday haze. The days of summer creep to an end, as August sheds its heat. In short and distant days ahead autumn reaches in, with change and dying, withered leaves. Each season takes its place and time not overstepping, awaiting its turn. Soon enough too soon, perhaps, the seasons pass. Time stands still for no one, nothing, allowing only seasons change. Moving forward, ever forward years, decades, centuries, bringing all things, all futures, all pasts to stake their place and time while history alone, holds time in place.