There it goes - July. I find no solace in the presence of August. She is here though, whether I like it or not. This realization came with the drop of a beach leaf from a shade-tree above my hammock. The crisp, yellow respresentation of Autumn mocked my security with a touch against my bare foot. I cannot pause time. The dauntless wind carried itself through the grass and carried the leaf away. I thought it said, "one day at a time, dear." But, why should the wind care? Time passes just as it did.

Heathcliff is dead. His peace lies under-foot, in the earth, with Catherine. Death is timeless, the only victor in the battle with inifinity. Life escapes us. Life is brief, like joy, and love, and lust, and understanding. But, we see the transience in those. How can we grasp the brevity of who we are. I fear time, and living in fear of the one thing that makes me alive does hinder all enjoyment - it has to. When bliss should sink in and sit for a while, it passes briefly. I find loss on the lips of my lovers, and death in a happy laugh; time is too much a presence.

Forgive my wilted smile and thoughtless glance, for I dare not enjoy too much. Time won't allow it. But, it is I who will not allow myself to forget about time.