Continuum

Walking slowly

down the hill –

the day is ready

for departure.

The empty street

that meets the beech,

is softly telling me

it’s story.

The sun is batting

now alone,

the people left

the beech already.

Will it tomorrow, when it’s born,

have memories

of the today

or visions of tomorrow?

Or is the memory

of this perfect day 
will be like words into the sand

that jealous ocean quickly swallows?