Time is short and when the time is short I made it up. I'm back to shooting from the attic in the early hours of the morning.
Noting the changing sky, I realize that every day is a new day, a day different from yesterday and different from what will come tomorrow. I know, but I need to see.
I have returned to raise their heads looking for the force that gives me the dawn. I have no time to find the beauty in the details of the garden. On rush upon each other and although they are short the hours are very long.
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