When the first snow comes, some travellers, such as these sandhill cranes, have already flown before it for 3000 kilometres, for a week.
The first snow has this extension in time. When it comes, a week after driving the ancient cranes south, the little water bugs gather together in a circle and swim all night to keep the ponds from freezing around them. They make little moon flocks in the light. They go on like this for weeks, while all the light changes around them. Such a steady moon, lengthening summer into the cold.
The first snow has this extension in time. When it comes, the aspens collect the sun through its screen, amplify it in their leaves, and leap out. Ta da!
The spring has this extension, or spring, in time. When the trees grow older, when they are shore birches, they bow down and break, providing shelter and making way for new growth.
The spring has this extension in time. Humans? Ah, we look into the pool of memory.
And are conscious. Sad that our countries ask us to return to unconsciousness. Sad that we have to go. 33 kilometres later, during the second snowfall, we make it out to the highway.
To come again. So does time erode around us.