Passerby

Clouds move quicker beyond view some days.

Leaves like fingers in the wind grasping at the time that breezes by.

Trees stand rooted in the now without even seeing the gift of presence.

The path behind appears now only as a flash while the one ahead, like paint drying on a thick, humid day.

The past urges forward while the future draws to an infinite pause.

There's no stopping the clouds on their passerby journey, but the leaves can choose to soak in the beauty before it fades from sight.

Memories to be made instead of missed.