The evening fades to twilight, light begins to close its eyes, colours becoming drowsy, soft and muted until only blue remains. Birds and insects fall silent; there is only the silver sigh of quivering Poplar leaves aroused by the breath of the zephyr. Behind the old wall we hear the echo of distant footsteps walking another path. As light steals away to leave us blind, the aromatic nimbus of lavender and roses beguile another sense. We breath slowly amid the perfume. The garden cools and evanesces into darkness. We stand alone and watch the day close the gate and leave. It is time.
Time is present, time is past, time is not tomorrow, for tomorrow is neither present nor past. We watch, we wait, we breathe again; time and time again we breathe, while time remains then breathe we must. Light will ebb and light will flow while time remains, but darkness waits for time’s last breath when the fire dies in the arms of the rose and all is cold and turned to stone. The final light will flicker for a moment until all is but a memory remembered by nobody.