Spring. Birth. The beginning of counting. Repeating the cycle regardless. New Year or day is just numbers on the calendar. I feel time observing nature. Soon the summer bustle will begin, and the city will drown in joys, sorrows, children’s laughter, and the noise of cars. Quieter…

Just a mood. One rainy spring evening.

The red light stopped her in the flow of the evening. All that was has vanished. All that will be has not yet come. There is only this moment. And her. Now.