Time

From the brocade of bygone times we weave tales on the summer canvas

As if time is a great stream from which, day after day,

The raw material for new literary garments is prepared

Out of the box of prose and poetry, of drama and fairy tales come reconsidered

Characters embodying emotions and moods, good or bad, so nuanced.

Often that you don’t realize on whose side they sit

In their silent amazement, waiting to be fished out by some even more amazed author

By the ointment of inspiration cast into the soft waters of memory.

The river turns into a flowing river, flowing downhill

Swallowing up letters and typewriters, taking with it what a good reader

Will not fail to keep for himself, the joy of reading, the key to understanding.