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Time passes differently now. No longer is it measured by hands on a clock, primarily, in minutes, hours or days. But instead by rising and falling levels of the creek, by

yellowing edges of the budding corn crops, by the degree of warmth or chill carried by the breeze. A subtle deterioration of youth from the body.

A life of eras, comprised of chapters in a book. What once began as an idea and exploration begins to take on a more complete and detailed image of what it may be b e c o m i n g .

The pen, though, lies in the hand of the author.