As we are on the threshold of the summer solstice, the day where the sun, like a reluctant child, lingers the longest before finally setting, I find myself contemplating time. Not the man-made construct, the rigid tick-tocking of a clock, but the organic, fluid kind. The kind of time that subtly changes the colors of a leaf, shapes a mountain, or gently etches lines on a face.
🕰 The Dance of Daylight
🕰 The Dance of Daylight
🕰 The Dance of Daylight
As we are on the threshold of the summer solstice, the day where the sun, like a reluctant child, lingers the longest before finally setting, I find myself contemplating time. Not the man-made construct, the rigid tick-tocking of a clock, but the organic, fluid kind. The kind of time that subtly changes the colors of a leaf, shapes a mountain, or gently etches lines on a face.