Almost empty trains rattle and sway, cutting through the night. trains that have passengers plod through, steadily.
At the park: Such a cascade of song from a delicate bird. Droplets in a line trace a pine branch.
Layers… what you see is not what is… revelations you had never guessed at. Such sadness. Despair. In sharing, so much of the past comes to life. So much seeps through, shapes the present. And now it’s too late. Life is a privilege.