We’re losing track of the time.
Days don’t follow the order of weeks anymore.
Days are days: morning is wake-up, night is bed-time.
In between is being.
A meal,
A walk,
The sun is warming,
The weeding is done.
Sometimes we heed time:
The opening hours of shops,
The arrival of a friend at the station.
Until we float back into fluidum of being.
Timeless.
