It steps in front of you,
saying, "What's the meaning of this?";
throwing down the gauntlet of its immensity.
Somewhere, a bird lifts itself from the branch,
hovering for just a minute.
like a tribute to progress,
swoops low over a fisherman,
reeling in a bass.
You must capture the moment
all of the fleetingness of numbers enacted in the shadings,
between dawn and dusk.
The eye follows the bird;
with the journey.
`x~William H. Balzac ~ copyright 08/14/2009.