Thirty Minutes

Have you ever watched a tree limb lose its weight in leaves, rising higher to the sky as winter approaches? Sunlight in the yard warms brighter than yesterday and brighter than a month ago, the canopy of summer leaves sewing fall quilts on the ground.

Why do I think of tulips at a time like this? Every step is like...?

Twenty-seven minutes to look out the window.

The initials HHI written by tree trunks and horizontal limbs.

Vehicles passing the house, the drivers in a hurry, their motivations left to my imagination.

A smiling face beside a credit card machine.

A, an article, like the, statements that more will follow. Le. El.

And...? Twenty-three minutes to look out the window.

Gender. Pollen. Bees. Seedpods. Ram's horns. Finch feathers.

Sixteen minutes to go.

Time dripping off the trees. Time in a passing wasp.

A moment measured by a digital clock, LED seven-segment displays wired for time. Hexadecimal not available, except through imaginary letters seen right-side up and upside-down.

Ten minutes and time to pack up this entry. Time to enjoy a few breaths of fresh air before the world of time takes over.

Time to join the imaginary lives of hurried drivers. Time to see the world behind the steering wheel of an automobile. It's time.