I watch the marks that tell of the passage of time. I watch what was wounded heal, what was fresh turn sour, what was a dream emerge into being. I watch the towers of man fall, the arenas of man fill, the folly of man laid waste. I watch the stars move across the sky, the moon turn its phases, the clouds brush what is above clean. But nowhere do I imagine that the earth and sea tell me that they ever remember all the things that pass, for it is not theirs to keep anything from the withering of time. It is to us that is given the memory, to keep alive the things that die, to keep the colors bold of the things that fade, to stop time within the sphere of our reckoning. I watch the marks that tell of the passage of time, and lo, if not our eyes, there will always be eyes that watch. There will always be a dream that remembers.